


the fix-up or the falling out

by gravityinglass



Series: the fix-up or the falling out [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alex loves Dylan who loves Connor who's not sure what he wants, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Dual Timeline, Epistolary, Hockey Big Bang 2020, M/M, a fic about potentiality and probablilty, and it causes all kinds of trouble, at no point does anyone have their shit together, band au, hbb 2020, pop punk's not dead, romantic dramedy, these kids are emo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/pseuds/gravityinglass
Summary: SPOTIFY: Odd Man Rush (864,671 Monthly Listeners)Biography: Chicago-based pop-punk band Odd Man Rush began in 2015, basing their quick-paced and emotive sound on the influence of masters of the genre like Simple Plan and the Hartforders. Built around singer Dylan Strome’s standout voice, the band was formed with bassist Alex DeBrincat and guitarist Nick Merkley; the trio was eventually joined by drummer Alex Nylander and rounded out by guitarist Clayton Keller. After YouTube videos and a demo circulated, the band released the six-song Late Nights EP in late 2016 and soon followed with full-length You Complete Me(ss)  in early 2017. A covers album--Songs That Saved Us--was released in early 2018. A year later, the band released their second LP Champions on Pure Noise Records. The album would prove to be their breakout, reaching number 17 on the Billboard Top 200 and laying the foundation for two years of hard touring. In September 2019 the band released a five-song EP to raise money for each of the band members’ favorite charities. Their third LP is expected in late 2020. -N. Hischier, Rissen13MediaAlex is in love with Dylan. Dylan’s in love with Connor. Life’s funny like that.
Relationships: (minor background) Auston Matthews/Clayton Keller, Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome, Connor McDavid/Dylan Strome
Series: the fix-up or the falling out [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005219
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32
Collections: Hockey Big Bang (2020)





	the fix-up or the falling out

**Author's Note:**

> I am super honored to be working with the wonderful TidalPrism, who has made a podfic and a fanmix for this story! It’s such a treat to work with someone so lovely, and I can’t thank her enough.
> 
> Further notes: this is what happens when your fandom history and your fandom present collide. 
> 
> This is an AU where 2020 is distinctly less 2020 than it currently is; just go with it. This got outlined in 2018 and begun in 2019, when 2020 was not what it is. As a result, 2015 is written as “then” and 2020 is “now”, but you can mentally place the timeline however you like to make it fit the world you’d like.
> 
> Since Alex DeBrincat and Alex Nylander are both named Alex, within the narrative “Alex” will always refer to DeBrincat and “Lexy” will always refer to Nylander; in conversation, Alex is usually called “Brinks” or “Brinksy”, while Nylander will always be “Lands” or “Lexy.”

_so what’s it gonna be: the fix-up or the falling out?_

Illıllııllıllı

**NOW**

Illıllııllıllı

“I have an idea for band bonding,” Dylan yelled, tumbling over the back of the sofa in the apartment he shared with Alex--DeBrincat, not Nylander, who was also camped out on the couch—jarring the controller out of Alex’s hands and nearly kneeing a tooth or two out of Lexy’s mouth.

Alex swore at Dylan, scrambling to retrieve the controller and get back into position. Apparently nearly getting bashed in the face wasn’t enough to slow down Lexy in his quest to conquer Rainbow Road and Alex was only falling further behind.

“The only one in this band interested in your dick is Brinks,” Clayton said, not looking up from his phone, having somehow missed the entire pile of Dylan’s limbs crashing onto the couch. He had opted to sprawl out on the beanbag chair than fight for a spot on the couch, which had probably been a good idea considering how much space Dylan was taking up now.

Alex took a moment to scowl at Clayton, which was just enough time for Nick to hit him with a shell. It was enough to distract him from the tight knot of feelings in the pit of his stomach, the secret he was hiding. Still, he managed to spit out “just because thousands of screaming fangirls want us to touch tips doesn’t mean _I_ want to.”

“Maybe when they’re screaming Alex and Dylan forever they mean me and Dylan,” Lexy put in, wiggling his way out from under Dylan and setting himself up on the floor, still maintaining his lead in Mario Kart. “We all know I’m the superior Alex.”

“So why am I Alex and you’re Lexy, huh?” Alex countered. “First dibs, bitch.”

“We should have all called ourselves Alex,” Clayton said. “Made that our schtick.”

Dylan sniggered and plopped his head in Nick’s lap, long limbs sprawling out over all the available space. Nick, to his credit, didn’t immediately put his gum in Dylan's hair, which Alex and Lexy definitely would have done. Instead, he just readjusted his arm position to keep playing.

They had just finished their tour the week before, closing a marathon run of shows in Chicago, a town that never failed to show up for them. They were camping out in Chicago for a few days while their shit got sorted into storage and their last few events wound down. Mostly, they were appreciating being in an actual home rather than a tour bus, even if Alex and Dylan’s apartment was the size of a shoebox. At least it was a shoebox with two bathrooms and more than one door that closed.

“What's your genius idea, Stromer?” Lexy asked. ”I still say no to matching tattoos. Complete nix on irreversible body mods.”

“We could still all have pink hair instead,” Dylan said because he was a giant dweeb at heart. He immediately got pelted with pillows from Clayton. “Have a pastel era. Bring pastel punk into fashion.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Lexy said, which was kind of hilarious given the fact that he already _was_ blond with a fading blue streak. “Nick would look _awful_.”

“Like he doesn’t already now?”

Nick flipped Clayton off, but he was grinning. “I refuse to dye my hair. I saw what bleach did to you assholes. I’ve got black hair, I’d fry the crap out of it just trying.”

“We’ll find you a wig, then.”

Alex chortled at the look on Nick’s face when Dylan put forward his great idea.

They ended up playing FIFA and scaring the shit out of the neighbors, probably. Alex almost couldn’t imagine life without the guys, even though they’d just spent six months on the road together between playing festivals and serving as the opening act for NTDP, crammed together in a tour bus between shows and media. They always ended up circling back to hanging out with the rest of the guys, which he supposed was why they were still going strong heading into their third album.

Alex had been through a lot with these guys. They’d been a band for five years--five incredible years.

This was life as Alex had never dreamed of in high school. Of course, whoever did?

Illıllııllıllı

**THEN**

Illıllııllıllı

Odd Man Rush was, in Alex’s defense, only _mostly_ an accident. Alex’s dad’s job made them all move to Erie fucking Pennsylvania, a city that was freezing and lonely and a thousand miles away from the kids Alex had grown up with. No one had been happy with the move except Alex’s dad, and even that was kind of questionable.

Alex’s new school was kind of prestigious, priding itself on student athletics, a private school whose tuition cost more per year than Alex’s first choice college did. All enrolled students had to participate in a fall, winter, and spring sport; by merit of transferring in the middle of the year, Alex ended up as a walk-on for the school’s winter ice hockey team. Alex actually didn’t know anything about hockey, but the swim team had filled up months earlier, apparently.

So Alex, who had skated maybe twice in his entire life, ended up getting impromptu hockey lessons from Dylan Strome, who was good but not driven enough, according to their very frustrated, one-bad-game-away-from-a-heart-attack coach.

Before Dylan, Alex had never had a best friend, not like this. He’d never just clicked with anyone the way he clicked with Dylan.

As good as Dylan was at hockey, it was clear to anyone with eyes his heart was somewhere else. Whether that heart was in music or following Connor McDavid around like a lovelorn puppy was a 50/50 shot on any given day. Alex, by merit of being able to exist in a room with both Connor and Dylan and not feel like he was being somehow excluded, was pulled into their shenanigans.

Dylan had been Connor’s best friend before Alex moved to Erie fucking Pennsylvania; Alex would have expected Connor to lose his shit over a transfer kid from Michigan stealing his best friend, but it turned out Connor was just the kind of person to shrug and say someone could have two best friends.

“Hearts don’t make a limited supply of love,” he’d said back then, and had apparently meant it.

It had been really hard not to feel like he was part of something special, following Dylan and Connor to parties where everyone knew them, and soon where everyone knew Alex. They were an unstoppable trio, and nearly inseparable. As much as Dylan liked to play the reject, he and Connor were _cool_ , and everyone knew it. Alex might have been popular on his own merits, but by hanging out with Dylan and Connor, he gained that aura of coolness, too.

So, with Dylan’s crush and Connor’s obliviousness, they made a band. Alex got dragged into it, because at this point whatever they did he did too; and anyways, Alex could play guitar well enough to read tabs but not so well that he’d be upset at having to learn a new instrument, and that’s how he started playing bass guitar. They found a drummer—another Connor, nicknamed Brownie despite his bright red hair—and suddenly they were a _band_.

It didn’t mean as much to Connor, who sang in the worship band at his church with his brother Cameron, and it didn’t mean much to Brownie, who liked drumming but clearly didn’t love it the way Dylan loved guitar.

Their band didn’t last. They never even performed together. But even now, they were all still involved in music.

Brownie was a roadie now, and he still texted Alex pretty regularly. He’d turned out fairly normal for a drummer and apparently liked living on the road if his constant stream of beer-soaked Snaps and big smiled selfies was anything to go by. He had a boyfriend now too, a gruff and burly tour manager who Alex had met a few times.

Connor was another matter entirely, but Alex tried not to dwell on that.

There was something about their quartet, a band of four hockey players and musicians who had all proven that music wasn’t a fleeting memory of high school, but a lifestyle and a career. They’d all turned out not entirely heterosexual either, which Alex wasn’t sure what to make of.

That hadn’t been the end of it, though. Despite Connor making a band with his brother and Brownie graduating, Alex and Dylan were still there in Erie fucking Pennsylvania.

And, well. They had plenty of songs, written out of Dylan’s heartbreak and Alex’s own crushes, and a desire to get the fuck out of Erie fucking Pennsylvania. Nick had moved to town for his junior year and immediately got adopted into their group by Dylan; Lexy just showed up one day with a set of drumsticks in his back pocket and no one ever really questioned it. Then, Dylan discovered Clayton messing around with bootleg mixing software on a laptop in the library one day and dragged him into the band room to practice, and that had been it. They were Odd Man Rush, a band who were all just trying to get through high school and who had picked their name out of a random list of hockey slang.

Their band biography on Wikipedia pointedly didn’t mention their affiliation with Connor McDavid. It certainly didn’t mention Brownie, though that was more out of Brownie’s anonymous irrelevance. It barely mentioned that they’d all jammed with other configurations of people--Jakob Chychrun on drums sometimes, or Christian Fischer on keyboard and piano--and that that this lineup had only stuck by merit of the five of them playing a gig where someone had known someone to pass along a rough recording that turned into a demo that turned into an album that turned into a career.

So, yeah. Odd Man Rush had mostly been an accident.

But really, it was the best thing that had ever happened to Alex.

Illıllııllıllı

## Odd Man Rush 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 **Odd Man Rush** (stylized sometimes as **OMR** or **ODDMANRUSH** ) is an American-Canadian rock band from Erie, Pennsylvania, formed in 2015. They are currently signed to Pure Noise Records and have released five EPs and two full-length albums. They released an EP titled Late Nights EP in October 2016 and their first full-length album You Complete Me(ss) in March 2017. In January 2018, they released a deluxe version of their You Complete Me(ss) album, along with a DVD of footage from their concert tour. [1] Their 2019 full-length, Champions, [2] [3] [4] debuted at number 3 on the Billboard Heatseekers Albums chart. [5]

 **Contents** [hide]

1\. History  
1.1 Formation and early releases (2015)  
1.2 _Late Nights EP_ and _You Complete Me(ss)_ (2016-2018)  
1.3 _Songs That Saved Us_ and _Champions_ (2019-present)  
2\. Style  
3\. Accolades  
4\. Band Members  
5\. Discography  
2.1 Albums  
2.2 Extended Plays  
2.3 Compilation appearances  
4\. References

**History [edit]**

**Formation and Early Releases (2015-2016)**

Odd Man Rush formed in the fall of 2015 in  Erie, Pennsylvania  [6] by founding members bass guitarist Alexander DeBrincat, lead guitarist Clayton Keller, and lead singer Dylan Strome. DeBrincat and Strome had previously been in other bands together before forming Odd Man Rush, initially to perform acoustic covers on YouTube. [7] Shortly after forming, they self-released a cover compilation titled  RUSHED, which garnered a devoted internet fancase. This was soon followed up by RUSHED 2.0, which contained four original songs in addition to the original covers. [8] Odd Man Rush embarked on a local tour with  Skate or Die, and garnered the attention of  Connor Carrick  to help the band gain a recording contract, a management company, and further tour dates. [9] On June 1, it was announced that Odd Man Rush had signed to  Pure Noise Records, six days before the band’s eldest members were due to cross the graduation stage at  Erie Christian School. [10] [11] 

**Late Nights Tour and** **_You Complete Me(ss)_ ** **(2017-2018)**

“Score” was made available for streaming on October 11 to popular acclaim, quickly followed by the release of the Late Nights EP. [13] In October and November, the band toured with NTDP [14] on the Light|Dark tour. In early December, the group began to record their first LP with Duncan Keith at Getaway Recording Studio, along with co-producer and former Bottle Rocket guitarist Brian Campbell. [12][15] In December, the band supported ferdaboys [18], then toured along with Charismatic Megafauna and Crossbar Cronies in early January as a last minute substitution for Benchwarmers. [16] [17] The group then toured once more with NTDP on their east coast tour. [18]

Their debut full-length album,  You Complete Me(ss), was released on 22 March, 2017. [19] It debuted at #5 on the Billboard Heatseekers Chart,[5] selling a little over 2,900 copies in the first week of release.[20] To support the album, the band supported NTDP on a spring tour in North America. [21] The band spent the majority of 2017 touring in support of _You Complete Me(ss),_ launching into a busy tour schedule opening for  Sundogs,  Winner’s Bitch and the Whatnots. [23] Shortly after completing this tour, Odd Man Rush headed overseas to support NTDP once more, touring throughout the UK and mainland Europe through early 2018. [21] In January 2018, the band released a deluxe edition of _You Complete Me(ss)_ with bonus tracks and footage from the band’s tour dates. [1][24][25]

In summer 2018, the band performed on the _Kevin Says_ stage for the 2018  Vans Warped Tour;[26] during the tour it was announced that the band would be releasing an EP in support of charities chosen by the band members titled  Songs That Saved Us. [27] They would also be co-headlining the 2018  Pure Noise Records Tour  with  Handguns, with support from the  Edmontonians,  Acid Fog, and Ice Force. [28]

 **_Songs that Saved Us_ ** **and** **_Champions_ ** **(2019-present)**

The band opened for USNTDP on their  Heart|Broken tour, playing concert dates in North America, Europe, Asia, and Australia. [22] On February 28, the band released their second album _Champions_ with no promotion or announcements; [29] by the end of March, the album had reached number 29 on the US Billboard Top 200 albums chart. [30] The band began a headlining world tour in April 2019, with support from  Blue Line Babes  and the  Buck Kings. The tour continued in the US and Canada with support from Chel and  Hat Trick Heroes. [31] [32]

While touring, Odd Man Rush appeared on the cover of that month’s issue of  Alternative Press Magazine. [33] After their headline tour, Odd Man Rush returned to support NTDP once more on the  Optimist|Realist tour in the US during the months of September and October. [22] In addition to touring, the band released a second EP,  Songs that Saved Us 2.0, to support their favorite charities in September. [34] The band continued to tour, this time with  On Thin Ice. [35]

**Style [edit]**

Odd Man Rush’s Style has been described as pop punk. [6][18][21][25][36] Their influences include  Green Day,  Blink-182,  The Hartforders,  Simple Plan,  All Time Low, and NTDP.

**Accolades [edit]**

_Champions_ was ranked at number 6 in _Alternative Press’s_ “10 Essential Records of 2019” list. [37] Jordie Benn of _Alternative Press_ wrote that the band “brought about a renewed love of old-school pop-punk with a modern twist”. [38] The album was included at number 7 on  Rock Sound’s  top 50 releases of 2019 list. [39] “Bright” was nominated for Best Music Video and “Speak Slow” was nominated for Song of the Year at the 2017  Alternative Press Music Awards. Odd Man Rush won Best Breakthrough Band at the 2017 Alternative Press Music Awards. “Slow Burn” won the award for Best Music Video at the 2019 Alternative Press Music Awards. [40]

**Band Members [edit]**

**Current Members**

  * Dylan Strome - lead vocals (2014-present)
  * Alexander DeBrincat - bass guitar, backing vocals (2014-present)
  * Alexander Nylander - drums, percussion (2015-present)
  * Clayton Keller - lead guitar, backing vocals (2015-present)
  * Nick Merkley - rhythm guitar, backing vocals (2015-present)



**Former Members**

  * Lawson Crouse - guitar (2015)
  * Jakob Chychrun - drums (2015)
  * Christian Fischer - keyboard (2015, touring)



**Discography [edit]**

**Albums**

  * You Complete Me(ss) (Pure Noise, 2017)
  * Champions (Pure Noise, 2018)



**Extended Plays**

  * RUSHED (self-released, 2015)
  * RUSHED 2.0 (self-released, 2016)
  * Late Nights EP (Pure Noise, 2017)
  * Songs That Saved Us (Pure Noise, 2018)
  * Songs That Saved Us 2.0 (Pure Noise, 2019)



**Compilation Appearances**

  * Punk Goes Disney (2018) - “Go the Distance” from _Hercules_
  * Punk Goes Pop Vol. 9 (2019) - “Sweet but Psycho” originally by Ava Max



Illıllııllıllı

**NOW**

Illıllııllıllı

As a band, OMR traveled a lot these days. Two years of constant touring, a relentless promo schedule, upwards of 500 shows in those two years--Alex could go through O’Hare in his sleep. God knows he’s gone through airport security drunk and hungover enough times that no one can tell the wobble in his step. Cees has had to explain away a few things, but like the rest of the guys, Alex could stumble through international customs on an hour of sleep, a shot of Jack Daniels, and the adrenaline of a show from the night before.

It was a little weird to be traveling without the guys; Clayton was Alex’s seat buddy for most of their long haul flights, so Alex had slept on his shoulder a lot. Traveling alone, with a single overnight bag and his favorite acoustic guitar--that was weird. The last time Alex had left Chicago, he’d left for four months. This time, he was only leaving for a couple of weeks.

Ostensibly, Alex was traveling alone because they were all busy during their break. Clayton had a pet solo project he was working on but never planned to do much with.

“I’ve just got to get the songs out of my head and I refuse to play trumpet for OMR,” he’d said when showing Alex the piano sheet music for a song titled GRATUITOUS SYMPHONY 12/16/17. “I wouldn’t ever leave the band for this instead, but the music has to go somewhere.” He’d be spending the break in Arizona with Auston Matthews, who he’d grown close to when their bands had toured together. He’d flown out with Merks the day before Alex’s own flight to LA.

Nick was busy working with a children’s hospital in Phoenix, the city where he’d spent four years before his family uprooted to Erie fucking Pennsylvania. For some reason, it was Phoenix that Nick kept circling back to, not his native Calgary, or Kelowna, where he’d spent four more years. It was something that Alex didn’t fully understand but would also never question. OMR was due to record a charity Christmas single sometime in the fall for the hospital. Alex mentally tabled that for later.

Lexy was off doing whatever Lexy did during their breaks. As close as he was to the rest of them, he also valued a complete delineation of work time and time off; he’d usually mention he was going to see family or to go stay with his brother, and he’d text regularly but that was about the sum total of it. From the pictures Alex had seen so far, there was a family reunion on a beach somewhere with lots of tall Swedish blonds, skewing a little more toward professional athletes than professional musicians.

Dylan was probably off getting his heart broken, which wasn’t what he wanted to be doing, but which was what almost always happened. More often than not it was Connor breaking his heart, but there’d been a months-long thing with a girl named Taylor, and more than a few infatuations that didn’t ever make it past a month but which broke Dylan’s heart the same. It was probably good that Dylan had a weeklong vacation with both of his brothers scheduled soon, but until then he’d be in Chicago, which was half of the reason Alex needed to be anywhere else.

For all the mess and closeness, Alex completely and unironically loved all his guys. They were as good as family, people he knew and loved, and knew he’d love for the rest of his life.

They were also complete and total assholes.

That’s how Alex justified not telling them about his recording session, anyways. Alex had no intention of ever leaving Odd Man Rush, short of the literal apocalypse. He still had songs he’d written, though, songs he couldn’t imagine Dylan singing to a crowd of thousands, night after night. He didn’t think he could handle fans asking about the meaning of the songs, the song-writing process--hell, he didn’t think he could handle his bandmates asking after these songs. He just wanted these songs on tape somewhere before the melodies faded from his head.

Being in the studio was comforting, with or without the other guys. A lot of the work Alex had already done on his laptop in early mornings, on bus rides and through the endless hurry up and wait periods between soundcheck and a performance. He’d recorded most of the things he needed in Garageband, but some things needed the dirt of a real-life recording, a touch of grit to make the recording lifelike. The soft twang of acoustic guitar strings, the deeper thrum of Alex’s beloved first bass guitar Josie, the rasp of Alex’s own unpolished voice. He could have scheduled studio time in Chicago, but there was something about LA that made this feel like a personal trip rather than a work engagement.

Alex had scheduled a week’s worth of time, gotten an engineer he liked on board. He hadn’t told the guys about it, partially out of cowardice and partially out of a desire to protect his emotional squishy bits. There was plenty of time to record what he needed for a CD of demos.

Besides, these weren’t singles, ready for radio release. These were demo tracks only, fit to be pulled from Alex’s head and onto a drive, to be dealt with later. They could be shown to prospective buyers as a rough demo, could be tweaked further down the road if he decided to pull them out again. For now, though, he would get them registered and copyrighted, and that would be enough to calm his anxiety.

“It’s not the best quality booth but it’s all yours for today,” Seabs said, unlocking the door and showing Alex in. “The other guys coming in later?”

“Nah,” Alex said, trying to look casual. He was sure he’d missed by several miles, judging by Seabs’ knowing look. “I have some solo stuff that wouldn’t work for OMR, but I’m looking into selling them. Selling them means registering them and recording demos to shop them around, so….”

“Just you today, then.” Seabs shrugged. “Instrumentals today, or vocals?”

“I have roughs for guitar on about half of them, and digital drum tracks, so I was going to do bass roughs for two songs today.”

“Two? How many demos are you registering?”

“Eighteen in total,” Alex said and watched Seabs boggle a little. “And before you ask, yeah, I’m pretty certain OMR can’t use any of them whatsoever.”

“...rap?”

“Country,” Alex clarifies. “There’s not a lot OMR can do to make them punk rock.”

“Not even cowpunk?”

“Definitely not cowpunk.” Alex dug in his bag to dig out his battered songwriting journal, and the folder that held his latest drafts of sheet music. The hard-drive that was holding the audio tracks was on his bag as well, but Seabs would get the idea by looking over the lyrics and tabs. 

Seabs nodded, starting to flip through the pages, eyes crinkling up in concentration. “Tracks on the thumb drive here?”

“Yeah.”

“So what do you need me for, then?”

“Final mixes and tracking, mostly,” Alex said. “And I wanted to pick your brain on if there was anyone you knew who might be a good fit for these.”

“Gotcha. Let me see what you’ve got done so far while you get warmed up.”

OMR had worked with Seabs before on their sophomore album, appreciating his alt rock influence under Brian Campbell, their producer for that album. Alex in particular had loved working with a fellow bassist, and had enjoyed his to-the-point critiques. Perhaps he wasn’t the perfect fit for Alex’s demos, but he was a good fit for Alex’s working style.

These were songs from when they’d been on tour with NTDP, when Dylan and Alex had been in close quarters for far too long, when the inkling of Alex’s crush had bubbled over into actually being in love with Dylan. This set of songs was a record of Alex’s sins and triumphs, the songs that chronicled the last five years of his life.

A handful of them he wanted to sell, but mostly he wanted to get them registered in case he wanted to use them later, or in case someone stumbled across them by mistake. They were rough songs, with bare instrumentals and little mixing, but they were translating well from Alex’s worn songwriting journals to a recording.

When Alex finally stepped out of the booth, fingers raw and the bass tracks for three demos roughed, Seabs stared at him.

“What?” Alex asked, reaching for the extra bottles of water he’d stashed in his bag. Dylan swore by gargling aloe, which was the single most disgusting thing Alex had ever done and never planned on doing ever again unless he had literally no voice left.

“When you said these weren’t OMR songs you weren’t kidding.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t fucking you around, dude. I think I know what I wrote.”

“Mm, yeah, I guess you did.” Seabs looked thoughtful. “You have anyone in mind to sell these to?”

Alex shrugged, starting to pack up his things into his bag. “Not really.”

“Are you feeling pretty firm on a dude singing them?” Seabs asked.

“Not really. You have someone in mind?”

Seabs nodded, reaching for his phone. “Coyne has a girl she’s working with to build her third album, and I think some of your songs might be right up her alley. Pop with a serious country influence, and plenty of heartbreak. I think she’s in town at the moment, actually.”

Alex considered. “You think she’d want to meet up, look over some of the songs?”

“I can text Coyne and see what she says. I’d imagine she’d be up for it, though.”

Alex packed up his things and headed back to the hotel.

There were some of their mutual friends in LA, but Alex didn’t reach out to them. Instead, he texted a few of the people he knew who might like some of his demos, who were half a world away from the rest of his band. Before he really got any responses, though, his phone rang: Dylan wanted to FaceTime.

Alex, because he was nothing if not completely predictable, picked up.

The first few minutes were their regular small talk and banter, but it was clear there was something in particular Dylan wanted to talk about, and the bomb dropped soon enough. 

“Davo wants to meet up,” Dylan said casually. Even through the Facetime connection, his grin was blinding. “He’s just off his _Hopeful Lungs_ tour, and he texted me to see if we could meet up.”

Alex raised his eyebrows, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. Connor did this often enough Dylan shouldn’t still be falling for it, in Alex’s opinion. He had no doubt that Connor McDavid loved Dylan in the worst kind of way, and was equally certain that Connor valued his career as a Christian contemporary chart-topper more than a healthy relationship with Dylan. 

“Is he still seeing that Lauren girl?” Alex asked instead, because telling Dylan it’ll all certainly go to shit would make it worse. Alex had seen it happen before.

Dylan frowned. “He didn’t mention her. Why?”

“Just curious.” Alex forced a smile. “Tell Connor I say hi, yeah? And Cameron.”

“I think Cameron is on a weekend trip to Nashville with his wife,” Dylan said. That set off another set of alarm bells in Alex’s head--if Connor was hiding Dylan from his brother again, Connor definitely knew that what he was doing was profoundly shitty--but Alex wasn’t Dylan’s keeper. Dylan had to make his own mistakes, yet again.

It was a restless night, to say the least.

There was a surprise waiting for him at the studio the next morning, in the form of the compact fireball that was Kendall Coyne, and an equally tiny blonde who Alex didn’t recognize.

“This is Cayla Barnes,” Coyne said, reaching out to shake Alex’s hand. “Cayla, Alex DeBrincat. Seabs thought you might be able to work something out with some songs, and I thought it was definitely worth a shot. Cayla’s got a gorgeous mezzo-soprano register, Alex.”

Cayla was a tiny, muscular woman in a red and gold t-shirt advertising Boston College Hockey. Alex liked her already.

“Bruins fan?” he asked, gesturing to the shirt.

Cayla laughed. “I mean, I was born in LA so my Kings loyalty is pretty deep at this point, but I’m here for all hockey. I’ve been a Boston College fan most of my life, though. You?”

“Mostly high school stuff, but I follow Chicago hockey pretty closely these days. Good to meet you.”

They sat down to look over the songs, Cayla humming a few bars as she scanned the sheet music. Eventually they got to the point where Cayla sang a few of the songs, demonstrating her gorgeous voice.

“I definitely want _Neverland_ and _Friends Don’t,_ if you’ll sell them to me,” she said, having sung through them once accompanied by Alex’s acoustic guitar. “Unless you have someone else in mind?”

“I think you’re pretty much perfect for them,” Alex said bluntly. “Make one a more dramatic orchestral version and the other stripped acoustic, and you’ve got a hit, I think. You put emotion into it better than I could.”

“I doubt that,” Cayla said, but she was smiling. “Kendall, what do you think?”

Coyne looked pleased, as did Seabs. “I think it’s an excellent match. You thinking of going into production, Alex?”

Alex shook his head. “Nah. OMR is about to start recording and promo for our next album. With our tour schedule it’d be impossible to do much but guest production occasionally.”

Cayla walked out with Alex at the end of the day, waving goodbye to Seabs and Coyne, who were hunched over a laptop editing individual waveforms, planning for the next day.

When they got to the outside doors, Cayla looked at Alex with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Wanna come out with me tonight? Some of my friends and I are getting dinner and hitting a few bars. I think you’d get along with them pretty well.”

Alex considered it, and agreed.

Going out with Cayla was great. It was fun, in a way that going out with his bandmates wasn’t. He loved going out with the guys in new cities, exploring new haunts, but there was a predictability to it. If there was a pool table, he knew that Clayton would smoke anyone who challenged him, in the same way that he knew Lexy would basically become best friends with everyone there. He knew everyone’s drink orders, just like he knew he’d have to take Dylan’s phone to keep him from drunk texting everyone he’d ever met.

Cayla was new, had different preferences and perspectives. Her friends all had different quirks and fun stories. It was refreshing. They made out in a back booth, her slight frame fitting into his, her lipstick tacky and bright red where it smeared onto his mouth. She was a good kisser, and she didn’t mind Alex’s hands slipping into the back pockets of her skinny jeans.

Still, at the end of the night, Alex went back to the hotel room he was staying in by himself. There were plenty of cute girls, hot guys, and Cayla herself, but he was tired and drunk and not really up to going through the whole song and dance of meeting someone new. It was possibly a mistake, because being alone in a hotel room meant Alex was stuck alone with his thoughts, staring morbidly at the ceiling.

Dylan still went when Connor called him, which was totally fine, despite the ambiguity of if Connor was dating that Lauren girl or not.

Which was fine. It was totally fine. It wasn’t like Alex didn’t have other friends, or other bandmates, even. He had shit he could do, and in fact, shit he needed to get done.

Connor was still one of their friends, despite everything, or perhaps _because_ of everything. They had all escaped Erie fucking Pennsylvania together--even if Connor wouldn’t be caught dead calling it that now--and they all loved music with the kind of passion that sat deep in their bones.

Alex was sure that, in a slightly different universe, Connor and Dylan would have been together for actual years at this point, maybe even married with a kid or two. They had a dynamic totally unlike anything Alex had ever seen outside of rom-coms and romance novels. Even as teenagers it was totally undeniable just how deeply and how much they loved each other. That best friendship Alex had thought he’d been interrupting hadn’t been a best friendship at all. It had been something else entirely, something much deeper than friendship. No wonder Connor hadn’t worried about Alex taking his best friend: Dylan wasn’t his best friend.

It was also true that Connor’s family could and would not accept anything other than a heterosexual lifestyle for their sons. Cameron married young; if Alex remembered right, Connor had been Cameron’s best man their senior year of high school, which would have made Cameron something like 20 or 21. Their four year age difference meant the McDavid brothers weren’t super close at school, but Alex definitely knew Cameron since the McDavids were notoriously close.

Dylan and Connor had both grown up in Erie fucking Pennsylvania, and had known each other for years. There were pictures of them at Halloween dressed up as Batman and Robin, with a long-suffering Cameron as Alfred lurking in the background.

Alex would never have that sort of shared history with Dylan. On the other hand, he’d also never have the amount of baggage Connor and Dylan shared either. Which was maybe a blessing; Alex wasn’t sure yet.

He pushed it out of his mind. There was work to do with Cayla, Kendall, and Seabs. He’d see everyone in LA sooner than later, for their planning meeting and a Hartforders concert at the Staples Center they’d all been looking forward to. It’d be fine. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

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**THEN**

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The new school year was kind of bizarre without Brownie or Davo there. Dylan had a weird expression on his face for most of the day, like he was trying to force himself to be… something. Alex wasn’t sure if that something was happy or sad. He wasn’t sure if Dylan knew, either.

They got to school early enough to see some friends, compare schedules, but not so early as to be dweeby. Dylan was still sulking about not being allowed to drop out--even though he was eighteen, Trish Strome was a hurricane who would allow her son to drop out of school over her dead body, and Dylan loved his mom enough to respect her wishes.

Alex got it, and he knew Dylan did too, as little as he wanted to admit it. She already had one son with a fantastic, improbable career. She probably just didn’t believe that luck could stretch to Dylan’s dreams of becoming a professional musician.

Not that Alex would ever say that, at the risk of sounding like a total killjoy. Besides, one of the best things about Dylan was his complete, unshakeable confidence.

They split up for homeroom. Alex had Dr. Vale, the chem teacher, being solidly in the Ds, alphabetically speaking. Dylan had Frau Williams, who taught German and ASL, and handled half of the S-es.

Homeroom was the usual, expected slog; here’s your planner, your official schedule, all the beginning of year paperwork, please don’t do anything that will make us expel you, start planning your mandatory sports, we’re actually enforcing dress code this year, we mean it--but Alex did manage to catch up with some of his fellow Ds. Christian Dvorak spent most of the homeroom drawing an increasingly elaborate sketch of Max Domi, who was bragging about his summer exploits loud enough Dr. Vale actually looked up from his desk to admonish him. Considering that Dr. Vale’s level of giving-a-fuck usually didn’t trigger until someone was actually trying to set his lab on fire, Domi kind of deserved it. Legend said that Dr. Vale had been at Erie Christian School for as long as it had been open, and he’d never given one fuck the whole time.

Lawson Crouse, who was thrown into their homeroom by merit of being at the very end of the Cs, chatted loudly with Jake DeBrusk, who was captain of the tennis team this year and apparently recruiting already.

Alex slumped in his seat, filling out paperwork idly and forging his dad’s signature. He’d gotten good at it, mainly because his dad could never be bothered to keep up with dumb shit like his kid, or whatever.

When the bell finally rang, Alex gathered his stuff and walked with Katie Delbasso. Katie was nice, but Alex mostly tolerated her since she knew everyone. She’d decided Alex was her friend when he’d first transferred and he wasn’t going to argue. She knew where all the good parties were, anyways.

Besides, the Spanish VI class was tiny, only twelve students, half of whom were native speakers who didn’t want to take AP and the other half who stuck together out of sheer linguistic nerdiness. 

There was a new kid when they got there, quiet with dark hair and a faint, nervous smile . He had an Asking Alexandria sticker on his binder, though, so Alex glared at the track and field dude heading for the open seat and took the desk next to the new kid, leaving Katie to sit with her other friends.

“Alex,” he introduced himself. “Brinksy. You new?”

“Nick. That obvious?”

Alex snorted. “Nah. Just a small school. Senior?”

“Junior. Decent at Spanish, I guess. They didn’t want to put me into AP since I’m a junior.”

Sra. Kelly bustled into the room then, which meant everyone switched to Spanish. In their icebreaker, Alex felt rusty but happy to be settling into a groove.

He learned that Nick--Nicolás, as Sra. Kelly insisted, just as Alex had quickly been dubbed Alejandro--was a transplant from Canada by way of Arizona, and that his mom was there to work for one of the insurance companies, same as Alex’s dad.

“My dad is going to work at the PNC where the collar bomber was,” Nick said in English, after six attempts to translate “loan officer” and “collar bomb” into Spanish. Sra. Kelly, who was listening in with a pained look on her face, offered the appropriate words.

They split up when the bell rang, Nick to junior English lit and Alex to his creative writing elective.

The creative writing class was also small, in one of the cramped classrooms in the back of the school, down in like, a half basement. It was a competitive entry class, and Alex had only succeeded with a portfolio of poetry and song lyrics, and a recommendation from his 11th grade English teacher.

It was a heavily graffitied desk in the corner that Alex sat in, fumbling in his bag for a sheet of paper and a pen. He didn’t like to think of himself as a nerd, but here he was, admittedly in a class of nerds.

If he were being perfectly honest, this was the only class he was really looking forward to. Everything else was to get into college, away from here, away from Erie fucking Pennsylvania, away from his parents’ endless fights, away from the miserable bubble that was waiting for high school to end and the rest of his life to finally begin.

He hoped he could convince Dylan to come with him. Maybe not to college--Dylan’s grades were uniquely awful, and he had no apparent desire to improve them--but to another city, another life, a chance at _not here._

Creative writing wasn’t necessarily going to help Alex with that particular goal, or playing bass guitar. But Alex was going to enjoy it while he could.

The hour flew by too quickly; the same couldn’t be said for Alex’s next two hours of Chemistry and American Government, respectively. He filed out of gov with his head aching; he could already tell that class was going to suck balls in terms of homework. In his pocket, though, he had a text from Dylan suggesting they meet in the band room for lunch.

He made it there before Dylan did, claiming a group of chairs from a small herd of freshmen who were wandering out of the band room, digging through his backpack for his lunch.

Surprisingly, Nick trailed in after Dylan, looking completely baffled as to what was going on.

Alex knew the feeling. Dylan was kind of a force of nature when he decided you were his friend.

“Kitty, Merks. Merks, Kitty.”

“I thought your name was Nick?” Alex said, at the same time Nick--or Merks, apparently-- went “Kitty?”

“Dylan thinks he’s funny,” Alex told Nick, then turned to Dylan. “We’ve met. First period Spanish.”

Dylan made a face. He was enrolled in French because his parents were Canadian, but he constantly bitched about how they were learning French French rather than Quebecois French.

“Nick plays the guitar,” Dylan said. “Like, legit plays the guitar.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at Nick, who flushed but nodded.

“I used to dick around with some guys in Phoenix,” Nick offered. “But it was mostly covers. We were kind of shit.”

“Aren’t we all,” Dylan said cheerfully. “Good thing we found you. Nothing but assholes and jocks out here in Erie fucking Pennsylvania. We at least know when the good shows are in Buffalo.”

Alex stifled a snort into his can of coke and shared an eye-roll with Nick.

It wasn’t the companionable lunch hour they’d shared with Brownie and Connor, but Brownie and Connor were gone. Connor had, in particular, shut down any contact, and Brownie was still figuring his own shit out.

Nick was funny, though, and starting to soften up around the edges, relaxing in the presence of new friends. There was potential; they weren’t a band, with two guitarists and a bassist, but they were _something_. With Dylan’s voice, they could _become_ something.

And for the first day of school of Alex’s senior year, where Stromer was struggling to adjust to life without his first best friend and Nick was trying to figure out a whole new city at a whole new school--it would have to be enough for now.

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**SPOTIFY: Odd Man Rush (864,671 Monthly Listeners)**

**Biography** **  
** Chicago-based pop-punk band Odd Man Rush began in 2015, basing their quick-paced and emotive sound on the influence of masters of the genre like Simple Plan, All Time Low, and the Hartforders. Built around singer Dylan Strome’s standout voice, the band was formed with bassist Alex DeBrincat and guitarist Nick Merkley; the trio was eventually joined by drummer Alex Nylander and rounded out by guitarist Clayton Keller. After YouTube videos and a demo circulated, the band released the six-song _Late Nights EP_ in late 2016 and soon followed with full-length _You Complete Me(ss)_ in early 2017. A covers album-- _Songs That Saved Us_ \--was released in early 2018. A year later, the band released their second LP _Champions_ on Pure Noise Records. The album would prove to be their breakout, reaching number 29 on the Billboard Top 200 and laying the foundation for two years of hard touring. In September 2019 the band released a five-song EP to raise money for each of the band members’ favorite charities. -N. Hischier, Rissen13Media

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**Apple Music: About 40DUST**

Origin: Nashville, TN  
Genre: Christian & Gospel  
Formed: 2015

40DUST is the amiable, anthemic, Nashville-by-way-of-Toronto CCM duo of brothers Connor and Cameron McDavid. Born in Richmond Hill to a Calvary-Chapel affiliated pastor and a choir director, the brothers grew up with musical cousins contemporary singer/songwriters Michael and Shawn Cavello of Manic Drive. The brothers relocated to Erie, Pennsylvania with their family in 2011 as their parents worked to revitalize a local church. Their first encounter as recording artists was with their mother Kelly McDavid’s gospel album, which led to the formation of their grassroots duo, McDavid₂.

As their songwriting ability blossomed, the pair chose to rename themselves 40dust. 40dust began in earnest in 2015, following Connor’s graduation from high school and Cameron’s marriage to his childhood sweetheart. By that fall, their song “Last of Us” was featured in the Lifetime TV drama A Newer Star. The following spring, the duo released a self-titled EP. Their following single, “freedom.” became the fastest-rising debut single of 2016 on the Billboard Hot Christian Songs chart. Their first-time full-length album _Open the Doors_ arrived in February 2017, having made Billboard’s list of the year’s most anticipated debut albums, while the McDavid brothers hit the road alongside artists like Skillet and Sanctus Real for the Winter Jam 2017 tour. The album hit the Top Five Christian Chart and made it onto the bottom half of the Billboard 200. Their following album, _Hopeful Lungs,_ artfully avoided the sophomore slump with an artful, exuberantly heartfelt faith-filled LP, hit number two on the Christian chart and climbed all the way to the 13th spot on the Billboard 200.

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**Pandora: About Cayla Marie**

Eastvale, California, USA - January 7, 1999 - Country

Cayla Marie Barnes is an American country singer, songwriter, and guitarist who performs her buoyant country-pop as Cayla Marie. The Eastvale, California native began her singing career at age 7 when she joined the Los Angeles Children’s Chorus for an eleven-year tenure including a yearlong stint with the elite LACC Chamber Singers. She was inspired to follow the country genre after falling in love with Shania Twain’s 2002 album, Up!. In 2016, at age 17, she caught the eye of record execs at Sony, leading to a record deal and her debut single, Not About You. Her first LP, _This Side,_ brought her critical acclaim; in 2018, she won New Artist of the Year at the CMAs. Meanwhile, Cayla Marie appeared as the opening act for singers like Carrie Underwood and Kendall Coyne. Her second LP, _Honey_ , was released in early 2019 and went on to receive critical acclaim and a Juno nomination for the 2019 Country Album of the Year.

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**NOW**

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Alex’s week in LA was excellent and incredibly productive. Working with Cayla turned out to be a natural fit, and in exchange for Cayla recording a couple of Alex’s songs that were a better fit for a female voice, Alex provided backing vocals and harmonies for one of Cayla’s tracks. They’d ended up on a conference call with both their managers and agents, attempting to sort out the legal intricacies of their collaboration; Alex mostly tuned out and let Carrick handle it as his manager.

They wound up with a sale contract based on the contingency of Alex’s songs getting trademarked; Cayla had no legal right to Alex’s songs until the trademark process finished, and Alex had no claim to the song he’d provided backing vocals to. Officially they paid each other a nominal fee for their time so it’d be classed as contract work, and they went from there.

On their last day recording together, Seabs looked at Alex in curiosity. Cayla and Coyne had headed out to pick up their lunches, and Alex was taking a vocal break with a cup of honeyed tea.

“Are you into her?” Seabs asked.

Alex choked on his tea. It took him a minute to get himself under control before he could breathe well enough to answer. “I mean, she’s hot, but not as a girlfriend.”

“Hm.”

Alex was going to regret this, but he had to know. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, all your songs are about pining and heartbreak and whatever, so I figured the two of you might be hitting it off as like, a rebound.”

Alex made a face. “Nah. Not worth it to fuck up a working partnership.”

Seabs, mercifully, didn’t press the argument. It was a good thing because Alex had to run and pick up Nick and Lexy from LAX, also known as one of the circles of hell.

OMR would be gathering at Clayton’s LA house to plan out their trip to the Nylander family cabin in Pennsylvania and sketch out the baselines of an album, and to attend a Hartforders concert together. It was almost a tradition at this point.

Clayton had gotten in the day before, so Alex had transferred all his shit from his hotel room over to Clayton’s place. Lexy and Nick had, in a miracle of scheduling attributable only to one extremely competent and long-suffering Connor Carrick, managed to schedule flights landing within fifteen minutes of each other. Dylan was coming in later that evening, but he’d be renting a car of his own.

It had only been ten days since Alex had seen his bandmates, but it still felt like coming home to have Nick throwing his shit into the trunk and Lexy plopping himself into the passenger seat while a cluster of teenage girls gave them suspicious double-takes from the curbside.

“ATL: still topping the list of worst airports in America,” Nick groaned, sagging into the bench seat in the back. “Like, holy fuck, I thought them losing your drumkit in 2017 was the worst they could do, Lex, but the air conditioning in the entire terminal was out. In a busy airport. In July. In _Atlanta, Georgia_. If my baby warped from the humidity I’m going to murder someone. They know humidity is hell on guitar strings? Because it fucking _is._ ”

Alex waved at the teenage girls on the curb and put his blinker on, preparing to merge into the slow, stressful stream of traffic circling LAX. Being LAX, the third-worst rated airport in their band poll of annoying airports, he was certain the whole experience would suck. JFK was rated as slightly worse, but not by much.

“Toronto was great,” Lexy said sunnily, pushing his aviators on top of his head. “I was in and out of Pearson in a snap. And the airport in the Bahamas was actually really smooth.”

Everyone in Odd Man Rush had incredibly pronounced views on good and bad airports. They spent enough time in them that Nick and Lexy had worked an honest-to-god ranking system that Alex barely comprehended. Lexy had tried to explain with a flow chart, and Alex had tuned right the fuck out. He was not getting dragged into their nonsense, even if he would heartily argue for Denver as his favorite airport and agree that Atlanta was perpetually shitty at losing their luggage. Dylan had spent a week mooching clothes off the rest of them after one particularly annoying ATL mixup. Being taller than Alex by a full six inches had not stopped Dylan from stealing Alex’s jeans, leading to a series of increasingly hilarious, bare-ankled photos of Dylan on stage.

“Brag about your hotshot vacation with your hockey superstar brother, why don’t you,” Nick groused. “Some of us were at family weddings in Georgia constantly getting asked when we were going to get a real career.”

Alex saw an opening and surged for it, ignoring the blaring horn of an irate driver behind him. “Any pitstop requests?”

“Caffeine,” Lexy said. “Just, all the caffeine.”

“Starbucks it is, then.”

“I want a caramel Frappuccino,” Nick demanded from the backseat, and started a discussion with Lexy about scoring their airport visits on their spreadsheet.

Alex was glad to leave them to it.

The barista at the window recognized them, so they all scribbled autographs on a slip of receipt paper for her in exchange for their large caramel Frappuccinos (Alex and Nick) and their iced black cold brew with an extra shot of espresso (Lexy), leaving a lot more caffeinated for the hour-long drive out to Clayton’s LA house.

They all had keys and access codes to Clayton’s house, which was good since his car wasn’t there when they arrived. There were signs of life, though. There was a half-finished cup of tea on the counter, and the mail was scattered across the kitchen table. 

For as little as OMR was actually in LA, Alex was grateful for Clayton’s LA house. It was a good home base for when they had to deal with their label or long recording sessions with professional engineers, despite the fact that they had few personal connections to LA. It still baffled Alex why, exactly, Clayton had chosen to own a house here instead of in Phoenix or Chicago like the rest of them, but Alex did appreciate it in moments like this.

Nick quickly excused himself to go shower the smell of plane off of his skin, while Lexy swiped Alex’s keys to go pick up snacks from the grocery store. Alex, left to his own devices, started to unpack.

Clayton wandered in when Alex had grown bored of refolding his shit and was trying to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker system in the kitchen.

“Well, if they’re out of small cars just get an SUV,” Clayton was saying, coming into the kitchen from the garage. “Plenty of people drive those around here.”

Clayton rolled his eyes and mouthed “ _Dylan_ ” when Alex raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Please just get a car,” Clayton retorted to whatever Dylan had said on the other end of the line. “Or fuckin’ Uber, but Alex just got back from LAX and I refuse to drive the 405 in rush hour just because you’re a dumbass for not scheduling better.”

Clayton paused, dumping his keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter. “Sounds like you’re up shit creek without a paddle then, bud, see you soon.”

Clayton hung up the phone and pointed at Alex. “He’s going to call you and you better not agree to pick him up or else I’m going to fill your bed with shaving cream. It’s his own fault for wanting to rent a car of his own.”

Sure enough, Alex’s phone started ringing—over the Bluetooth, so at least that had worked.

“Heeeeyyy—“ Dylan started.

“Nope, go get your rental car. Get your own ride.”

“But, Kitty—“

“Nope. Fuck LAX. Have fun.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Tough shit, Buttercup,” Nick said cheerfully, wandering in, hair damp. “What are we telling Dylan no about?”

“He wants someone to come get him from LAX.”

“Nope, fuck that noise,” Nick said immediately. “That’s an hour drive, no traffic. Already spent an hour in the car with Lex and Brinks, and Brinks has been on a Metallica kick lately, which, fair, but also no.”

Dylan made a petulant whining noise.

“We’ll see you when you get here,” Clayton said cheerfully and reached over to stab at the end call button on Alex’s phone. “Good job not caving, man.”

“Fuck you, I do not always cave.”

“You totally do,” Nick said. “Three am, Dyls calls you, hey, I’m at the airport, and you haul yourself out of bed to go get him. Kells needs a pickup at the hotel? Off you go. Lex gets into Chicago in the middle of a date? Alex’s Uber service will be there shortly. Total pushover. Dylan can handle his own shit, especially since he’s been ragging on about Connor so much.”

Alex made a face, which he hoped the others would interpret as annoyance with Dylan’s excessively sappy Instagrams. Everyone was vaguely annoyed with Dylan when he was in his moony phases, though no one got quite so grumpy over it as Alex did.

They dispersed to wait for Dylan’s arrival, with Clayton recruiting Nick to carry shit in from the car and Alex dispatched to figure out if the backyard grill needed a new propane tank or if they could use it as it was. The answer was that the fuel level was not doing great, so Nick headed out to the hardware store right as Lexy was rolling back in, laden down with snacks and Dylan’s favorite throat lozenges for when they inevitably started riffing late into the night.

It was a sign of LA traffic that Nick returned before Dylan arrived, leaving Clayton to swap the tanks out.

It was shaping up to be a good evening; Nick was a great grill master, and Clayton had stocked up on beer. The sun was still high in the sky, the weather was warm, and they were going to have a good week gearing up for their writing getaway at Lake Conneaut.

There was nothing quite like the moment Dylan came tearing in through the door to tackle the first person he saw.

That person happened to be Alex himself, so he found himself tackled to the carpet, laughing as Dylan got up to go after Clayton, who was dodging around the room, laughing too hard to breathe.

Alex wasn’t quite so cheesy as to call his bandmates his soulmates, but there was definitely something special about this group of guys. Dylan finally caught Clayton, at which point he was tackled by Nick. Lexy watched from the couch, completely amused by their antics.

“God, I have missed you all,” Dylan announced, sitting up. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed. “How I have pined for you all, desolate in your absence--”

“You were off fucking Connor McDavid,” Lexy said. “You pined for none of us.”

Dylan spluttered, but he didn’t deny it. “Like you weren’t keeping yourself busy yourself.”

“I was on a family vacation,” Lexy protested.

“We saw the Instagram photos,” Clayton retorted. “You and your brother shirtless on the beach, posing for the camera. Come on, like you didn’t pick up.”

Lexy didn’t protest, just shrugged. “Well, yeah. At least I wasn’t pretending I actually _missed_ all of you,” he said cheerfully. “I’m a rockstar with a famous athlete brother, like I wasn’t going to have fun in the Bahamas.”

“Fuck all y’all, I was stuck watching my cousin Leila get married and I was related to just about everyone there,” Nick whined. “And the ones I wasn’t related to were all a million years old.”

“I was mostly here in LA, don’t look at me,” Alex said lightly. “But man, I was out with Cayla, and she showed me this club I’ve got to show you guys, alright--”

“Wait, _Cayla--_ ” Dylan looked way too excited. “Are you introducing us to your girlfriend?”

Nick and Lexy both made cat-calling noises; Alex looked for a pillow to throw at them, and settled on flipping them both off. “She’s a singer I was working with.” At Clayton’s skeptical look, Alex rolled his eyes. “Seabs thought we’d be a good fit, and you know I’ve always wanted to figure out the engineering stuff. She’s fucking awesome.”

They detoured from there, Clayton demanding to hear some of Cayla’s stuff, which meant Alex had to pull out his phone to share the demo recording Cayla had done of her song _Halfway Home_ with Alex providing harmonies and guitar riffs.

“She’s got talent,” Clayton said, impressed. Dylan had his phone out and was already taking notes--Alex should have seen it coming, that his whole band would decide Cayla was one of their people the second he showed them her music. “You did the guitar?”

“She wrote it and I helped record it, along with some of the backing harmonies,” Alex corrected. “Seabs put me in touch with Kendall Coyne--”

“Wait, _the_ Kendall Coyne--”

“You’ve met her,” Nick cut in, voice filled with disbelief. “Come on, Dyls, your memory isn’t _that_ bad--”

“What the hell were Coyne and Seabs doing working together--”

“Anyways,” Alex cut in. “Seabs introduced me to Kendall Coyne, and Kendall is working with Cayla, and we worked well together. She’s brilliant.”

“She wrote that song? Good hook.”

“Are you going to nerd out over her songwriting or are we going to actually start dinner?” Lexy put in. “Because I am about ready to start eating all of you if it means I get fed.”

That was enough to get everyone moving again, though Dylan and Clayton continued to pepper Alex with questions about Cayla as Nick got the grill going.

Even though it had only been a week and a half since they were all last together, there was a difference in Dylan. He was bright and bouncy and clearly in love—and Alex, despite himself, found himself hoping that this time would be the time that everything worked out for Dylan, that this time Connor wouldn’t fuck it up, that this time Dylan wouldn’t get his heart broken and Alex wouldn’t have to stitch him back together.

Alex wondered if maybe that was a little counter-intuitive, but he figured if Dylan was clearly happy, there’d be no reason for Alex’s crush to have that little spark of hope burning any longer. More than anything Alex wanted Dylan to be happy, and maybe if Dylan finally was happy, Alex could start to move on.

There wasn’t really time to linger, as Alex got pressed into service chopping vegetables and assembling skewers for Nick to grill. Dylan vanished to shower, while Clayton and Lexy bickered over the best way to light the fire pit.

That was where they congregated, lured by the smell of food and the promise of beer. Even with the relaxed atmosphere it didn’t take long for work to come up.

“We did the angry album last time,” Dylan said when they were gathered, Nick keeping half an eye on the grill. “This is the ‘I’m over it’ album. The growth album.”

Clayton and Alex exchanged glances, but they’d all heard the songs written on tour. Dylan wasn’t wrong. Especially in the wake of Lexy’s most recent breakup, a yearlong relationship that had cracked under the pressure of their relentless touring schedule and exploded once it became apparent that long distance wasn’t the only issue. Lexy wasn’t much of a lyricist, but he’d provided a few rough sketches along with sparse guitar tabs, and Alex knew there was potential there.

Nick hummed, a toneless note that meant he was considering something. “Are we doing a theme? Like--the Last Young Renegades, or the Half-Moon Kids? Tie together our videos and production visuals?”

“We’re going back to the summer house to write,” Lexy put in. “We could lean on the fact that we all play hockey, go for a team logo sort of deal. Shirseys and stuff. The video for Stand Tall went over well from our last cycle. Play up our name.”

Clayton, ever the nerd, was taking notes. “Do a team jersey sort of thing for teasers and promo. Each of us can design our own, like, letterman jacket.” He tapped his pen against his lip. “Merks, you were working on that one song with all the nostalgia for high school?”

Nick snorted. “You could say that. I’m not liking the rough lyrics I’ve got, but I like the guitar stuff. I was going to ask Brinks for a hand since I thought we could oomph up the rhythm section on that one. It’s really just an idea at this point, honestly.”

“Garageband not cutting it?”

Nick gave Lexy an exasperated eye-roll. “I’ve never been as good at Garageband as the rest of you. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather play around with shit on an actual guitar than digital waveforms. I’ve done just fine leaving the engineering bullshit to you assholes, my guitar and I will be writing killer solos on our own little island of fun and riffs.”

“To each their own,” Clayton said diplomatically. “We’re all on the same page, recording covers tomorrow, right? Dylan’s stuff, and mine?”

Clayton was weird about a lot of things, and one of his superstitions was not referring to songs by name until they’re for sure on the album. Admittedly, all of their charting singles from their first and second albums had been songs Clayton had refused to name, so they’re all willing to play along. They’d avoided a sophomore slump; now, they had to make a junior record that kept the fans wanting more.

One of the things that had been another of Clayton’s superstitions that had gone over incredibly well with the fans was their city covers. Every show they played, they’d play a cover and the fans ate it up. They all took turns picking the cover and all sang whenever they could, both serious and silly songs. Most songs from the tour they’d make semi-serious cover videos on YouTube for, and they usually filmed them backstage at the venue before the show. A handful of songs they hadn’t had time for, or the recordings had been poor quality, so they’d need to be re-recorded. Three of Dylan’s covers needed to be redone, and two of Clayton’s had been sleeper hits that needed recording in the first place.

They stayed up late that night, catching up and getting progressively more tipsy. Alex found himself listing into Dylan’s side, near-snuggling in the warm LA night air. 

There was nowhere else he’d rather be, he thought, his sides aching from laughing and Dylan’s arm heavy around his shoulders. When they finally stumbled off to their beds, Alex drifted off to sleep warm and content.

Illıllııllıllı

**THEN**

Illıllııllıllı

It had been an offhand suggestion to begin with, but Alex quickly found himself sitting in front of a camera, guitar on his lap. Between the three of them, their music taste ranged widely from bro country to emo rock to classical opera and a cappella harmony. They all did agree that Blink-182 was fucking epic, though, one of the best bands of all time.

Which meant, naturally, that they were going to cover Taylor Swift.

It had started with goofing around at lunch, and Alex had plucked out the chords to Shake It Off. Dylan, being the ham that he was, started belting out the lyrics. Nick had filmed most of it on his phone, and Dylan had gotten it into his head that they should do actual YouTube covers.

He probably wasn’t wrong, but Alex had doubts about Taylor Swift being an ideal inaugural cover.

“We don’t even have a band name,” Alex bitched, mostly just to bitch. The band room guitars were shitty, but the cheap acoustic guitar Alex had at home was even shittier, and he wasn’t about to haul his bass guitar in for this.

Dylan made a face. “I’ll put it on my YouTube channel. We’ll figure out a name eventually.”

Nick, who had also been pressed into service, had his own guitar in his lap, though his was decidedly less shitty than Alex’s.

“I doubt anyone is going to watch a video of us dicking around in the bandroom,” Nick said. “But whatever. It’ll be fun. Kill a few free periods.”

“I need my study hall,” Alex grumbled, but it was half-hearted at best. He got most of his homework done in the long afternoons where both his parents were gone and the house was echoingly, achingly empty. Study halls were for trying to convince Dylan to do his own homework and ultimately letting him copy off of Alex’s.

Half of Alex thought that this was Dylan trying to avoid getting bugged about the history test they had coming up, but the rest of him was pretty sure it was just Dylan’s sheer love of music.

They hadn’t really messed around as a band since Brownie and Davo had moved on; Alex had started to wonder if Dylan had totally given up on music as something that meant everything to him.

Nevertheless the cover got made, and shockingly—it got traction outside just their circle of friends. People they didn’t know were encouraging them to make more covers, sending them requests and recommendations. They liked the banter, the teasing, Dylan’s voice.

Dylan was smug that he was right, because of course he was.

But at least a smug Dylan wasn’t a Dylan that was moping over Connor McDavid, so Alex let it roll and went where Dylan pointed him when they made their next video.

Illıllııllıllı

**Odd Man Rush, Manchester 9/10/19 Speak Slow and Lexy breaks his drums - YouTube**

_September 12, 2019 • Uploaded by jack hughes_

_[Lexy breaks his drum kit in Manchester 9/10/19 on the Optimist|Realist tour with NTDP and while he went to fix it they were messing around.]_

**LEXY** : Stop, stop, stop, hold the show--Merks, buddy. Put the guitar down. You’re gonna hurt yourself.

 **BRINSKY** : What? What’s going on?

 **LEXY** : Guys, I’m very, very sorry, but… I've actually broken the drum kit.

[Crowd screams and laughter]

 **DYLAN** : Oh, god, here we go.

 **LEXY** : I was thinking “how am I gonna get myself out of this” but then I realized...we’ve got to stop for a minute, I can’t play like this. No show without the drums.

 **MERKS** : Look at this asshole trying to take over the show. Not enough attention back there as the drummer, huh?

[Someone in the crowd audibly yells ‘DYLAN LET ME SUCK YOUR DICK’]

 **BRINKSY** : Well, that’s forward.

 **DYLAN** : Has my show been taken over? Is that what this is?

 **BRINKSY** : shhh just go with it--the other Alex broke his drums. We’re stalling.

 **CLAYTON** : I’m just going to go see if--

 **DYLAN** : don’t you go anywhere--we need some fixing music.

 **BRINKSY** : We’ve done this song before, it’s called “Lexy broke his drums”, sing it along with us. Merks, gimme a riff--it goes “Lexy broke his drums” and then we clap like this--SING IT!

[Audience chants the song back at them]

 **BRINKSY** : you okay over there, Clayton?

 **CLAYTON** : I’m just enjoying this nice water break. Stretching my fingers out.

 **DYLAN** : Yeah, why do we give you a mic? Hey, you don’t have to be rude. That’s a very rude gesture.

 **BRINKSY:** So is now when we tell the crowd we only invited them here to steal their cars?

 **MERKS** : Don’t worry about it, it’s happening right now.

 **DYLAN** : It’s for a good cause, I promise. Don’t worry.

 **BRINSKY** : well, only the really cool cars. If you’ve got a junker you’re probably safe.

 **CLAYTON** : We have stalled...successfully--

 **LEXY** : The drums are fixed! Give it up for my man Jesper, our rhythm section roadie!

[Approving roar from the crowd]

 **DYLAN** : oh, good. Everyone forget all about the car thing. It’s fine. It’s fine. We’re going to play that song again--we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen.

 **BRINKSY** : What were we playing, again?

 **CLAYTON** : This is Speak Slow. Sing along if you know the words!

Illıllııllıllı

**NOW**

Illıllııllıllı

Alex set himself up next to the firepit, his acoustic on his lap. This cover would be one of Clayton’s, and it would be Lexy, Clayton, and Alex himself. Dylan and Nick were chatting quietly behind the camera as everyone else got settled in.

They were a little creaky at first, warming up and goofing around. Nick flitted around, filming a few clips for their social media; Clayton fussed over their hair and wardrobe, making Dylan go change into one of the t-shirts promoting their last tour and forcing Alex to turn his hat around backwards.

“Now we can see your face,” he said, satisfied. “Dylan, did you find your Uptown Funk notes yet?”

“They’re somewhere,” Dylan retorted breezily. “And who said I needed notes?”

“You, five minutes ago,” Lexy chipped in. “There was a note variance you wanted to try.”

“Well, I’m a whole new man since then. Don’t need notes.”

Clayton flipped Dylan off. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

“Would I ever?”

Alex hid his snicker in a sip of water. Beside him, Lexy rolled his eyes and played a quick beat on his cajon. “Can we get going, already?”

It took them a while to get going running through warm-ups and testing a couple of variations, but once they got their feet under them they were off and running. Alex played two covers before swapping out with Nick to run the camera, taking a moment to appreciate Dylan singing.

Alex thought that he could listen to Dylan’s voice forever. Not as like, an in-love-with-him kind of thing, but as an “oh, fuck, Dylan actually knows what he’s doing, and he’s got years of practice to back up his innate talent.” As someone who had to listen to Dylan’s voice day in and day out, and as someone who’d had to try filling Dylan’s shoes when Dylan had been out with bronchitis--Dylan was fucking amazing at this.

It took them a good six hours to record the videos to Dylan and Clayton’ standards, by which point the sun was setting and Alex was ready to cut loose a little.

His phone buzzed in his pocket; it was Cayla, seeing if he and his boys were up for drinkies. He rolled his eyes at her word choice, and brought it up with the rest of his band. He wasn’t surprised when Nick and Lexy were immediately onboard; Clayton would go if the rest of them did; it was Dylan’s reaction that surprised him the most.

“Connor’s in LA,” Dylan said, face lighting up. “We could all get together! Your Cayla, Connor, all of us--”

Against his better judgement, Alex agreed.

They made plans to meet up at a dive bar that Cayla had suggested for their pool tables and hockey memorabilia collection.

“No work business,” she decreed when her Lyft dropped her off along with a tall brunette a head and a half taller than her, introduced as Megan. “And prepare to get smoked at pool.”

“You sure about that?” Nick asked, grinning.

“Megan here is kickass at eight-ball,” Cayla said. “Come on, let’s get a table big enough for all of us. Five of you, two of us?”

“One more--Connor’s joining us,” Dylan put in. “Good to meet you, by the way.”

“I’ve heard loads from Alex.” Cayla looped one arm through Alex’s, and the other through Megan’s. “But you’ll have to give me the best Alex gossip. I’ve tried to get him to spill his secrets, and the most I’ve gotten is that he’s really not fond of clowns.”

Alex grimaced. “Creepy fucking faces.”

“Ah, man, that’s not new,” Clayton said, slinging his arm around Cayla’s shoulder. “Have we got the gossip for you.”

They got a table and their first round of drinks. Clayton and Megan bonded over sharing a last name and apparently zero relatives; Lexy, Nick, and Cayla were chatting quietly while Dylan kept darting glances at the door.

“You think he’s not going to show?” Alex finally asked, when he got tired of watching Dylan shred his napkin into a million tiny pieces.

“He said he would, so he’s going to,” Dylan said. “But...yeah, I mean. It’s not like he hangs out with you guys all that much anymore.”

Alex sipped his drink. “As long as he’s not going to break your heart again.”

Dylan made a face and was about to retort when someone coming in the door caught his eye. “Is that him?”

“You’ve seen him more recently than me,” Alex said, but he turned in his chair to try to see. “I think so. No one else would be wearing a jean jacket and a hat with the Oilers logo on it if they could help it.”

“He’s a Gretzky fan,” Dylan sniped, and then he was up and across the bar to get Connor’s attention.

Alex steeled himself, and got the attention of the rest of the table by rapping on the tabletop with his knuckles. “Connor’s here,” he said.

Connor greeted them all with hugs. Even though he’d left Erie fucking Pennsylvania long before Nick had moved there, before Lexy and Clayton had become part of their clique, he still greeted them like old friends.

It made it hard to hate him, honestly.

“It’s so good to see you,” he gushed, pulling Alex in for the kind of hug Alex missed sometimes, the kind that made it feel like Connor was trying to leave bruises with how much he wanted to share the love. “How’s Chicago? And Ralph?”

Connor had an excellent memory. He’d only met Ralph once, but he faithfully asked after Alex’s dog every time they saw each other, remembered Lexy’s sisters by name despite never meeting them.

“Ralph’s still with my mom,” Alex said. “Chicago‘s been warming up. Not as hot as here, though.”

“LA is the worst,” Connor said cheerfully. “All this sunshine? Too much.”

Alex couldn’t help but crack a laugh. Connor was good at that, deadpan humor and wry commentary.

Connor bought their next round of drinks, launching immediately into a lively discussion with Cayla and Clayton, Dylan tucked into his side. It was a raucous affair, though eventually they split up. Alex held down their table while Dylan and Connor went to check out the pool tables and retro pinball machines.

“I see what you meant,” Cayla said, sliding deeper into the booth so she was sitting next to Alex. “That’s a level of tragedy I think you could see from Mars.”

“See what from Mars?” Megan asked, leaning over from where she’d been chatting with Clayton.

“Tragic flirting in the corner.” Cayla rolled her eyes. “I was trying to figure out why Alex had so many truly soppy love songs in his repertoire, and now I see he’s just got fuel for ages with his band.”

Clayton, the traitor, didn’t even put up a token protest. It was probably fair: Dylan’s Connor-related heart-eyes were one type of obvious, but Nick was flirting with a girl by the pool tables. He seemed to be getting his ass solidly handed to him, and either didn’t mind or notice.

“I do not miss that part of being single,” Megan mused, sharing a knowing glance with Clayton. “How do you know Connor, by the way?”

“Dylan and I went to high school with him,” Alex explained. “Or--technically we all did, but Merks was a transfer a year after he graduated.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged you as friends, but that makes sense.” Megan flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Kind of like how Cayla and I know each other.”

“I know you because your girlfriend is a terrifyingly good front of house engineer,” Cayla retorted. “You’re from _Michigan_.”

“Well, she’s awesome.” Megan shot a look at Alex. “I meant to ask: I know he’s super-Christian or whatever. Is he gonna be a dick?”

“About your girlfriend?” Alex shook his head. “Connor is...complicated.”

Megan looked unimpressed. “Complicated like he’s closeted as fuck and hates himself, or complicated like it’s fine to be gay if you’re someone he likes personally? Because I’m not here for the whole ‘love the sinner, hate the sin thing.’”

Alex met her eyes. “Complicated like it’s not my story to tell. He’s not gonna be a dick.” He hesitated. “If it helps, he wouldn’t be here if he was a dick to Dylan or me.”

Megan raised her eyebrows. “You telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“That I’m bi? Sure. Not sure what words Dylan would use for himself. But yeah. Connor wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t cool.”

Clayton tapped on the table, gently drawing attention to himself. “Connor and Dylan have an on-again off-again thing none of us know how to explain. It’s on-again right now.”

Megan looked satisfied and dropped the topic, but the easy buzz Alex had going had been cracked. There was the rest of his evening ruined.

Illıllııllıllı

Over the years, Odd Man Rush had established a few different traditions. They’d write songs together at the Nylander family cabin for their albums; they each had handshakes and rituals with each other before they went on stage; no one got high alone; they had a dumb otter plushie from Build-A-Bear that they brought with them on tour and posed somewhere on stage, usually with Lexy’s drumkit. It was currently residing in Clayton’s LA house, wearing a tiny leather jacket and looking stupidly adorable.

Alex’s favorite tradition was almost definitely going to Hartforders concerts together, whenever they possibly could, with floor seats and not any VIP bullshit. They’d all grown up watching Jon Toews and the Hartforders; there was nothing like getting lost in the crowd and screaming along to the songs they’d been listening to for the last decade.

“We can get you good seats, you know,” Jon said in a dry phone call when he realized all of Odd Man Rush would be attending their LA show. Alex honestly didn’t understand how Jon Toews was one of the coolest musicians to ever exist and simultaneously too awkward to text. “Backstage passes or VIP seating.”

“Nothing like being on the floor, though,” Alex said cheerfully, checking his wallet and phone were easily accessible “Come on, unless you’re going to call one of us up on stage we’ll all be on the floor.”

“If you’re sure.”

“You offer every time, and we’ve never taken you up on it.” He leaned forward to examine his hair in the mirror, and went to adjust it. “It’s tradition at this point.”

“You go backstage for fuckin’ ATL and the NTDP,” Jon grumbled.

“Are you actually offended that we’re fans of your band first and foremost? We can see NTDP any time. You’re _special._ You’re our _idols_.”

“I think technically you’re our baby band, for god knows what reason,” Jon retorted. “I’m regretting taking you under my wing.”

“Nah, you love us.” Alex decided his hair was as good as he was going to get it. “Have a kickass show.”

“Don’t we always?” Jon chuckled, and said something to someone in the room. “Sharpy and Soupy say hi.” There was a fumble, and then a new voice came on the line.

“Afterparty, you’re coming, I’ll text you the details,” Patrick Sharp ordered, and then the phone line clicked shut.

Alex rolled his eyes and went to track down the rest of his band.

Connor was still in LA, but he was doing some of his own stuff. He certainly wasn’t coming to the concert; as dopey in love as Dylan was, this was a tradition Dylan wouldn’t fuck with. Besides, everyone was heading back out in the next couple of days. Dylan and Connor were both going to Chicago, to Alex’s knowledge.

“You ready?” Lexy asked when Alex found his way to the kitchen. “I think Dylan is about to explode.”

“When is he not?” Alex checked himself out in the mirror in the hallway once more. “I’m pretty sure this whole band is just a plot to get close to Jon Toews.”

Lexy snorted. “Get into his pants, more like.”

“I can _hear_ you,” Dylan yelled, sounding scandalized. “How dare you? I’d never settle for anything less than marriage.”

“Mr. Toews?”

“Mr. Strome-Toews, thank you.” Dylan rounded the corner and struck a pose in the doorframe. “It’d be glorious.”

“We’ll make sure to tell Jon that at the afterparty tonight,” Alex teased. “Not that he’ll have missed your marriage proposals at the last few shows. I think your sign at the Baltimore show went viral.”

Dylan snorted, dropping out of the pose. “Yeah, maybe. Everyone ready to go?”

“Waiting on Merks and Kells,” Lexy said, not looking up from where he was thumbing through his texts. “What afterparty?”

“Sharpy was going to text the details,” Alex said. “Should be good.”

It would be, he decided. If he willed it hard enough into being, it would be.

Illıllııllıllı

**THEN**

Illıllııllıllı

Someone else was in the band room when Alex got there, head spinning from the exam he’d just taken and a profound dread for the rest of the day. That someone was blond and vaguely familiar; a junior, if Alex was remembering correctly.

Alex sat in his regular spot. The band room was open, so whoever wanted to sit there could, even if most people generally didn’t. As always, Dylan was running late for some reason or another, so the blond’s presence at least kept Alex from sitting alone in an empty room until Hurricane Dylan rolled in. Nick was going to be late too, having to change out of his gym gear before he could make it to lunch.

Alex settled in with his lunch, and was completely unsurprised when it took another five minutes for Dylan to roll in.

“Sup, bitch,” Dylan crowed, throwing himself into the chair next to Alex.

The blond didn’t even look up; he just kept sitting in the corner, working his way through what looked like a PB&J sandwich, nodding along to the music Alex could faintly hear through his massive headphones.

“Um,” Alex said.

Dylan shrugged. “Nylander is cool. His brother’s in the NHL, a few years behind Ry.”

Ry, Alex has to remind himself, was Ryan Strome, Dylan’s older brother who currently plays for the Edmonton Oilers. It was still weird to sit down to watch a hockey game and see Strome in a jersey racing up the ice, and correlating that with the guy who spent the last summer very earnestly helping his parents remodel their basement.

Ry was cool, Alex will admit. It’s still kind of weird how many younger brothers of professional hockey players are apparently in their high school.

“Which team?”

“Leafs.” Dylan started waving at Nylander, who took a moment to pull his headphones off. “Yo, Lands. Come eat with us.”

Nylander looked vaguely surprised. “Huh?”

“Stop being a weirdo and come sit with us.”

Nylander did actually come over to sit with them. Alex only vaguely knew him as a guy who always made homecoming court and ran both track and cross-country.

“‘Sup, Stromer,” he said, folding himself into the seat nearest the band lockers, next to Dylan. “Ms. Frangipane give you permission to be in here?”

Dylan rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up on the chair in front of him. “I’m TAing for her guitar class the block after this, so she doesn’t mind if I hang in here during lunch.”

“Cool. I was waiting for her since she wanted someone who plays an actual drum kit for the annual Grinch show. Apparently there are zero freshmen who play drums, which I find hard to believe, but like, whatever.”

Alex had only seen the [ Grinch show ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pafwKiwOqwc) once, but it was local legend. Dylan was a veteran of their school’s annual Christmas tradition, so Alex had heard plenty about it.

“I don’t think I knew you played drums,” Dylan said to Nylander. “How long have you played?”

“Started when I was thirteen to spite my dad,” Nylander said cheerfully. “He wanted me to really start gearing up for the OHL and I was like, fuck that, I like hockey but I don’t like hockey that much. So like, four years? I’m not the best but I can hold my own.” He shot a grin at Alex, rolling his eyes.

“Nylander and I played bantam together,” Dylan explained to Alex.

“You’ve known me long enough you can call me Alex, dude.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “ _I’m_ Alex.”

“Twinsies!” Nylander held up his hand for a high-five. “Fuck, man, are there a lot of us. Just call me Lexy,” Nylander said. “My sisters call me that, so I’m like, used to it.”

That was when Nick stumbled in, looking exhausted. “Holy fuck, how do you survive PE here, what the hell--”

“Luck and a lot of crying,” Lexy said dryly. “Welcome to athletic hell.”

Nick stopped short. His hair was still dripping wet from his post-gym shower, and he looked like Alex had felt after his first round of PE with Coach Hartsburg. “Uh, hi.”

“Merks, Lexy; Lexy, Merks,” Dylan said. “Anyone in for a round of euchre, now that we’ve got four people?”

“What the hell,” Nick said. “Are you going to kick my ass half as bad as Coach Wolfe did with Sharks and Minnows?”

Lexy cracked up. “ _That’s_ what he had you doing?”

Nick threw his backpack onto a chair. “Apparently it was to determine who would be fit for track and field in the spring.”

“Who’d you have PE with? The freshmen?”

“Elective PE III for strength training,” Nick retorted. “I didn’t want to have to take driver’s ed again. I already have my license from Arizona.”

Alex shook his head. “Everyone knows elective PE III is what the cross country team takes for fun. You fucked yourself on that one.”

“Obviously I didn’t know.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “How do you play euchre, anyways?”

“Well, you start with two teams,” Dylan said. “Me and Nick versus the Alexanders?”

Lexy nudged Alex with his elbow. “We’re gonna kick their asses, don’t you worry.”

And just like that, Lexy was part of the group, as if he’d always been there.

ıllıllııllıllı

 **Burn Those Ships •** _17 August 2020 • Blind Gossip • 36 Comments_

[ **Blind Gossip** ] Uh-oh! Two musicians who shouldn’t love each other have been seen together in an LA bar looking awfully cozy--despite the fact that they never acknowledge that they grew up BFFs! Eerie how quiet they are about knowing each other, huh?

One is a Christian pop star with a disapproving brother and an appropriately honorable--and more importantly, female--partner in his life. The other has a punk edge and something to prove--enough that he made sure his band was there to witness! Punky has never been shy about the men he sleeps with, and Christian’s got a squeaky-clean image to maintain. Christian’s girlfriend, Honorable, knows everything and is going along with it because she’s in a similar situation herself! Christian and Punky seem to be on a whirlwind romance tour—they were spotted together in Chicago just last week!

Some things in our past don’t stay in the past, though, do they? Should Christian and Punky own up to their relationship history? Why or why not?

Comment below with your guesses!  
Christian:  
Honorable:  
Punky:  
Clues:

Tags: _unsolved, blind item, musician, closeted, secret relationship_

 **Comments** [36]

 **[Amanda82** ]  
Christian: Connor McDavid from 40 Dust  
Honorable: Lauren Daigle  
Punky: Dylan Strome from OMR  
Clues: eerie--both from Erie PA; Burn those ships--lyrics from 40Dust single Hopeful Lungs; shouldn’t love you--lyrics from OMR’s single.

[ **OhConnor** ]  
Seconded!!

[ **chicagofix** ]  
Christian: Leeland Moore from Leeland  
Honorable: Amanda Moore

Illıllııllıllı

**NOW**

Illıllııllıllı

Connor was, despite all the shit, still one of Alex’s friends too.

That didn’t mean Alex wasn’t fully prepared to murder him after this latest round of breaking Dylan’s heart.

Alex was woken up at one AM to his phone ringing, the cheerful chime that meant it was someone he actually cared about, as opposed to the default chirp for an unknown number. One AM was kind of early for him to be actually asleep, but one of the luxuries of being on what was ostensibly a vacation was that he could go to bed early and get up early. He’d gone to bed at ten and relished it, something his high-school self would never have believed in a thousand years.

“H’lo?” he managed, fumbling through the mess of blankets and sheets to sit up. “Brinsky.”

The person on the other end of the line cleared their throat. “Uh, hi.”

Alex pulled the phone away from his ear to check the contact screen and swore, loudly at Connor McDavid’s beaming face, an old photo from high school where he’d had his face painted for a football game, his grin loose and infectious. Alex glared at teenage Connor McDavid, then hung up and started looking for the earliest plane ticket he could get back to Chicago. It ended up being an early morning flight that required Alex to leave pretty much as soon as he could get his things packed up. It was only years of living out of suitcases and hotels that had Alex out the door and to the airport on time.

Alex didn’t have high expectations. Dylan was going to be a mess.

He knew Connor, and he knew Dylan. They’d have gotten drunk together--Connor was a fucking lightweight--and something would have happened. It could be anything from sleeping together or something as innocent as a kiss. Connor would give Dylan enough hope that this time was the time Connor would admit they were soulmates, that Connor would come out and admit he loved another man, and Connor would get cold feet. The next morning, Connor would remember his career, his family, his girlfriend, whatever excuse he was using at that particular moment, and that would start a fight.

Whatever argument that started would turn deeply personal with Connor blaming everything he could on Dylan and saying the cruelest things he could, and Dylan would break up with Connor yet again. Dylan would crash and burn and attempt to lose himself however he could, and Alex would be there to pick up the pieces. Whenever Dylan managed to pull himself together, they’d have half an album’s worth of the kind of raw, messy material that had gotten Odd Man Rush their first album deal.

It had happened far too many times for Alex to actually count. That didn’t change the fact that Alex now had a heartbroken and hungover Dylan on his couch in severe need of someone to love him. Alex was still in fucking love with him, and Dylan didn’t know.

With the help of good tailwinds and eerily light Chicago traffic, Alex got home early afternoon. He let himself in, finding a silent apartment with the sort of mess that suggested Dylan had given up on staying tidy, with Dylan himself nowhere to be seen, though a quick peek into Dylan’s bedroom revealed a sleeping form under a pile of blankets.

Alex sighed and dumped his bags in his room, laying his guitar case down a little more gently. Then he went to dig some eggs out of the fridge. Short of dumping a glass of water on his head, the fastest way to rouse Dylan was with the smell of breakfast food. Even a hungover, heartbroken Dylan could be mollified with enough hashbrowns.

Sure enough, Dylan slumped out of his room about the time Alex was flipping the hash browns in the pan.

“Do I want to ask?” Alex said, not looking at Dylan.

“Probably not,” Dylan croaked. His voice was raspy, which could mean a lot of things. Alex was thinking it was most likely that Dylan had been crying. “Been a dumbass again, Kitty.”

Alex set the spatula down and turned to see Dylan.

Dylan wasn’t a small guy, but he’d managed to make himself look small in an oversized hoody and pajama pants. His eyes were red, and he definitely had the remains of a hickey on his neck. If Alex had to guess, the hickey hadn’t happened long before the tears.

“The fixable kind of dumbass, or the move-to-Nepal kind of dumbass?”

“Never talk to Davo ever again, kind of dumbass,” Dylan said, eyes starting to leak again.

Alex crossed the kitchen, pulling Dylan into a hug. The way that Dylan clung back suggested it was worse than he wanted to let on, but Alex could always tell.

“I think we can arrange that,” Alex murmured. He let Dylan cling for a minute longer, then gently steered him towards one of the kitchen chairs. “Hey. Sit.”

Dylan went, pliant and exhausted.

Alex turned to flip the hashbrowns and pull the eggs and bacon out of the oven where they’d been warming.

“I think I really fucked up this time,” Dylan said, which made Alex tense a little. “God. It’s. It’s a mess, Kitty.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Alex set the sheet pan down on the stove.

“I don’t think he’s ever going to talk to me again.”

“And that’s a bad thing, right now?”

Dylan groaned, face-planting onto the table. “He’s _Connor_ , you know?”

Alex did know. He got a beer out of the fridge and pushed it at Dylan, and put the breakfast food on the table. He swiped Dylan’s phone, pocketing it before Dylan could put up much more than a token protest.

With Dylan drowning his woes in beer and his eggs in ketchup, Alex texted the other OMR guys an SOS. It took the rest of breakfast and putting Dylan on the couch with a shot of whiskey for Alex to get a reply with a screenshot of the United Airlines booking page from Clayton and a photo of Lexy’s packed suitcase. The OMR boys were closing ranks and coming back to Chicago. It was a little earlier than they’d planned to regroup, but only by a week.

“Lexy says no one is renting out the cabin at the moment,” Nick said when Alex’s phone rang. “We can go early. I’m gonna call Carrick to see if he can change our flights from--what is it, next Friday? to like. Tomorrow.”

“We can hang out in Chicago for a week,” Alex said, ignoring Dylan’s curious look. “It’s not like there isn’t anything to do here.”

There was a smirk in Nick’s voice. “Yeah, but we could be up at the cabin channeling this emotional pain into music.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Where are you?”

“I’m waiting for Auston to pick me up; he’s gonna drive me and Clayton to PHX. We got tickets for a flight in—“ there was a pause as Nick clearly checked the time. “An hour and a half. Good thing we’ve got all those frequent flier miles, huh? We’ll get in early tomorrow morning.”

Alex grinned. “Get on your flight, we’ll see you when you get here. Text me if you need a pickup.”

“Ask Dylan if he wants anything from DFW. We’re gonna have like an hour layover and I am 100% going to try to get Texas barbecue on the plane if I can.”

Alex hung up on Nick. A string of laughing emojis appeared in the group chat almost immediately.

“What’s happened?”

“Boys are heading in today, figured we could all have a little fun.”

Dylan rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Alex was glad he’d made the right call in contacting their bandmates.

Lexy was the first to get there, using his key to let himself in only two hours later in the middle of a Bondi Vet marathon, bearing a backpack and a crinkly plastic bag.

“You got here suspiciously fast,” Alex said, narrowing his eyes at Lexy, fumbling for the remote. “What the hell flight did you get on?”

“I didn’t. I drove,” Lexy retorted. “I was in Milwaukee.”

“Why were you in Milwaukee?” Dylan popped his head up over the back of the couch, still buried in blankets. “Who the fuck do you know in Milwaukee?”

“Music festival,” Lexy said. “Clayton and Merks are both flying in from Phoenix, so I figured I should help out the lesser Alex with your sulk.”

Alex flipped Lexy off. “Fuck you.”

Lexy just smirked. “I brought cheese curds from the Cheese Castle.”

“Gimme,” Dylan demanded, making grabby hands. “I’ll call you the superior Alex if you give me the cheese curds.”

“I hate you both,” Alex announced. He headed back towards his room, slipping Dylan’s phone into Lexy’s pocket as he went.

Relieved of Dylan duty, Alex showered and scrubbed his teeth. He still felt the grit of airplane travel on his skin and was all too ready to wash up. He could hear Lexy and Dylan chatting in the other room, their voices a low comforting murmur. He was exhausted.

He slumped into the living room, slotting himself into the couch between Dylan and Lexy. “What are we watching?”

“Something dumb,” Lexy said. “What time did you get up this morning?”

“Well, I got up yesterday,” Alex said, and left it at that.

“So you’re sleep-deprived, and you got dumped.” Lexy pointed to each of them in turn. “So, no horror movies?”

Alex made a face, and didn’t argue when Lexy settled on ESPN, watching a golf tournament. Alex knew maybe two things about golf, and he didn’t really care about either of them. Comfortably slumped on the couch, he dozed off.

Band naps weren’t uncommon on tour on much smaller bus couches or dressing room sofas, so it wasn’t like they weren’t used to sleeping on top of each other. Dylan would probably bitch about Alex’s wet hair, but he was also relaxed into their pile of bandmates. To the sound of polite golf claps, Alex drifted off gratefully.

When he woke up, it was nearly dark outside and he was alone on the couch, tucked under an entirely too-small throw blanket. Dylan and Lexy were bickering in the kitchen. Alex smiled, heaved his exhausted limbs up, and went to scrounge up some food.

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Nick and Clayton did get in at an unreasonably early time the next morning and were darkening Alex’s door long before Alex was willing to be awake. Jetlag, even the measly two hour difference between LA and Chicago, was a bitch. When he stumbled out of his room, Lexy and Clayton were doing something unspeakable to the rat’s nest of cords behind the TV.

“Do I want to ask?” Alex raised his eyebrows at them, only to be met with Clayton’s sunny smile. “I’ll take that as a no. Coffee?”

“Dylan drove us through Dunkin’ after he got us from the airport,” Clayton said. “Your ice coffee should be in the kitchen if Merks hasn’t found it.”

“Fuck you, I don’t want his nasty coconut coffee,” Nick yelled from the kitchen. “It’s _gross_.”

Alex hid a smile and went to go find his coffee.

The rest of the day passed slowly; Alex and Clayton played hot potato with Dylan’s phone, withholding it to keep Dylan from texting Connor. Lexy and Nick took it upon themselves to relentlessly kick Dylan’s ass in Mario Party, a game Dylan had a serious love-hate relationship with on the basis that it was all luck and no skill.

Alex noticed that Clayton was watching him too, but he wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like Alex’s heart was the broken one.

He wasn’t entirely sure whose idea going out to a low-key bar that evening was, but he did know that he ended up squeezed into the back of an Uber with Lexy and Dylan, heading to one of their favorite haunts.

Distracting Dylan was a time and a half, but Nick was apparently up for the challenge, redirecting Dylan’s attention any time a phone buzzed. Alex put up as good a game as he could, but he wound up holding down a table; he was still exhausted from his flight and handling Dylan. How Clayton and Nick were conscious was beyond him.

Well, it wasn’t really. Clayton and Nick were inexhaustible fonts of energy. Alex took the moment at an empty table to take a breather; he sipped at his beer and watched Lexy flirt with a tall redheaded woman. He wasn’t sure where Dylan and Nick were, but he was pretty certain it was far from Clayton, who was eyeing Alex from across the bar. Alex did his best to ignore it; when Clayton got that kind of pensive look on his face, they were either about to break into somewhere they really weren’t supposed to or they were going to have a serious heart to heart conversation.

Of course, Clayton wasn’t going to let Alex ignore him when he appeared behind Alex and took Alex’s drink out of his hand to set it on the nearest table.

“Merks is going to take Dylan home,” he announced, grabbing hold Alex’s shoulders and steering him towards the exit. Lexy saluted as they headed for the door, swiping Dylan’s keys out of Alex’s pocket and vanishing into the crowd. “Lexy is going to drive. You and I are going to head out.”

“I always take care of Dyls,” Alex protested. “I love Merks, but--”

Clayton cut him off. “But he can handle Dylan just fine. C’mon. Let’s go. He can call Carrick if he needs backup.”

Outside, Clayton flagged down the Uber he’d apparently already ordered and spent the ride making small talk about the baseball game he’d attended with Nick a few days earlier. 

Clayton was completely sober, which was how Alex knew nothing about this evening was unplanned.

“You planned this,” Alex accused, shoving his hands in his pockets when they got to the apartment.

Clayton just shrugged, using Alex’s keys to let them in. “We have to talk about Dylan,” he said.

Alex was thrown back to the night of Lexy’s seventeenth birthday party when Clayton had said the exact same thing.

“We have to talk about Dylan,” Clayton had said. He had a pink streak in his hair, which his parents went batshit over but which they ultimately didn’t make him take out. He was the baby of the group, even younger than Lexy; he was also the most responsible, which Dylan definitely had thought was hilarious.

“What about Dylan?”

“I know I wasn’t here when Dylan dated that guy,” Clayton had started, and that was where Alex’s day got weird. “But is he okay? I don’t think he’s taking the breakup well.”

Alex hadn’t known how to respond. “It wasn’t a breakup,” was what he came out with. “Because they weren’t ever dating.”

Clayton had stared, open-mouthed. “But all those breakup songs--”

Alex had sighed and resigned himself to a long conversation about Connor and Dylan. “They never dated. Wasn’t in Connor’s image, or whatever. Dylan definitely wanted to, but Connor wasn’t going for it.”

Clayton had blinked. “Right. Gimme a minute.”

To his credit, Clayton had adjusted quickly, but now Alex wasn’t so sure Clayton had ever really believed him.

In the here and now, Clayton looked at Alex, eyes somber. “I never got the full story back then, did I?”

There weren’t a lot of secrets in OMR these days. When they’ve shared tour buses, hotel rooms, vacations, family dinners, leaked nudes, hangovers, unflattering fan photos, everything--there wasn’t a lot of room to hide things. They all knew about the weird freckle on Lexy’s dick, and Clayton’s claustrophobia, and the fact that Nick will hit tequila a little too hard whenever he gets homesick. They’ve shared everything from clothes and colds to beds and secrets. Alex has helped a completely hungover Lexy shower. There’s no going back from that.

Alex gestured helplessly at the world around them. He followed Clayton into the kitchen. “It’s a fucking mess, where the fuck do I even begin?”

“From the beginning?”

“What beginning?” Alex snorted. “When I first moved to Erie?”

“Might be a starting point, yeah.” Clayton grabbed two pint glasses out of the dishwasher, and filled them with tap water, setting them on the kitchen table. “Before I got there, anyways.”

So Alex told him, and for once it didn’t feel like dragging the story out of his soul with rusty pliers. Instead, it felt like a dam breaking, if Alex was going full cliche. The bare bones of the story felt damning, but Alex had never acted on any of it. If even his own bandmates hadn’t picked up on it until now--he would say his behavior was pretty damn irreproachable.

When he finished, Clayton looked at him considering. “So a long time, huh.”

Alex shrugged helplessly. “It’s kind of always been a thing, I guess. It’s not like I spent a lot of time thinking about it.”

“So even back when he was dating Davo the first time?”

“They weren’t dating back in Erie,” Alex corrected. “They were into each other, but--I mean, you’ve met Davo’s family. They weren’t really happy about him being friends with Brownie, much less anything that might have been him being queer. And, you know, Dylan was the first like, real best friend I ever had. I mean, I had people, but--I just thought that was what it was like to have a best friend.”

Clayton nodded. “What changed?”

“Well, OMR happened. You--Merks, Lexy--I don’t see you all the same way I do Dylan, and that kind of pointed some things out to me. And, you know. I never got jealous when Lexy dated anyone, but I got jealous when Dylan got back together with Connor, and relieved when they broke up, and--yeah. I didn’t mean to ever tell him. I was going to take this time at the cabin to get over myself.”

“You never thought about telling him?”

“How the fuck would that have gone well?”

Clayton considered. “Fair. I think if Dylan had known he had other options than just Connor, he might have made another choice.”

“Like he did with Taylor?”

Clayton made a skeptical noise. “Come on. We all know what Taylor and Dylan were to each other. That was just a mess waiting to happen.”

“And you don’t think I’d cause just as much of a mess?”

“Maybe less of one,” Clayton said. “You love him, and I think that would make a difference.”

Alex groaned, rubbing his face. “He’s such a fucking disaster.”

“To be fair,” Clayton teased. “You are too, a little.”

“If I can love him like this,” Alex said. “I think I’m pretty well fucked.”

Clayton just raised his drink in a mock toast, leaving Alex to swear into a couch cushion and pray that Clayton would forget about this by the morning. They fell into a silence, the hum of the air conditioner in the background and the faintest buzz under Alex’s skin.

“Why Dyls?” Clayton asked, startling Alex into paying attention again. “I mean, objectively Merks is the hot one. Or Lexy if you believe Twitter, which I for one do not.”

Alex laughed, a little stunned. Clayton slung an arm around Alex’s neck and brought him in for a hug. They’ve always been kind of tactile friends, but never in the way Dylan was with the whole band.

“I dunno,” Alex said. “If I knew I’d have been able to get over him.”

“Maybe you don’t have to.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at Clayton. “What the hell would give you that impression?”

Clayton gestured vaguely. “I mean--Connor and Dylan were always...something, yeah, but you and Dylan have always been something too. Dylan lives with you in Chicago when he could live with Lexy or me in LA, or with Merks in Phoenix. He plays up the stage flirting with you, and he’s never done the proposal thing with me or Merks. Half our songs are co-written by you two. There’s something there.”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other longer,” Alex said. “He’s never shown any interest. I'm just the friend that mops him up when Connor fucks him over again.”

“He’s never had any reason to?” Clayton offered. “I mean--you do hide it well.”

“And yet…”

“I was looking for it.” Clayton shook his head. “Fuck, Brinks, I don’t think you realize how weird you were to the rest of us back then. Bet you anything Lexy and Merks didn’t have a clue.”

Alex exhaled. “How did you know?”

“Guessed, mostly.” He shrugged. “I knew you were separating from Dylan, a little bit. I was at Erie High before Davo and Brownie graduated, even if we never hung out. Lexy and Merks only knew you after that, and--I dunno. You and Dylan were both different after that summer. Everyone knew it. Something changed that summer, and the rest of us--we knew we couldn’t ever really get it, you know?”

“We weren’t cool enough for everyone to notice that.”

Clayton snorted. “You weren’t cool, maybe, but you guys were popular. Everyone knew who you were. Everyone loved Dylan, and everyone loved you. There was just this weird bubble around you. Most of us just hoped we’d get let in on the secret eventually, or find our own secret.” Clayton quirked a smile. “And those of us that did, we all kind of knew there was something going on there. Dylan always needed you more than the rest of us. If Merks got his heart dragged around, you never would have put up with as much bullshit from him. And Dylan never went to anyone else if he could go to you.”

“So you always knew.”

“I guessed,” Clayton corrected. “Which is completely not the same. I guess what I’m asking is...what are you going to do about it?”

Alex lifted his head up to stare helplessly. “I mean. Get over it, I guess.”

“You’re sure?”

“What else can I do?” Alex flumped back over, covering his eyes again. “I’ve just got to make it stick this time.”

Clayton snorted. “Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that.”

Alex flipped him off half-heartedly.

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**THEN**

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Alex still wasn’t sure where Dylan found Clayton, but Dylan dragged Clayton in, chattering loudly about mixer software and guitar chords.

Nick and Lexy were shooting the shit, chatting about something Alex was only half tracking, too focused on his fucking excellent sandwich. Alex was not normally a sandwich kind of guy, but this particular sandwich was _excellent_.

He looked up only when someone landed heavily in the chair next to him; the band room chairs were not the sturdiest chairs in the world and they creaked ominously when the user moved wrong, much less landed on them heavily.

Alex was expecting his new seatmate to be Dylan but was instead greeted by a vaguely familiar face: Clayton Keller, who shared Alex’s creative writing class.

“Anyone else get kidnapped?” Keller asked. “Or am I just special?”

“I was already here,” Lexy said cheerfully. “Got used to them. They grow on you.”

“He got me on my first day,” Nick chipped in. “Welcome to the cult.”

“Not a cult,” Dylan said, scowling. “A band.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna be a band,” Dylan insisted. “It’s gonna be awesome.”

Keller leaned back in his chair. “Right, then. Do we have a name?” he asked, without complete seriousness, and that was that.

Clayton quickly became one of Alex’s favorite people. Not that the rest of their group weren’t people he loved dearly, but there was something about Clayton’s steady energy, his pragmatic attitude and intense determination that resonated with Alex. Nick was funny; Lexy was nuts; Dylan was Dylan; but Clayton was just the kind of person that Alex got along with from the jump. He was really good at arranging tabs, too; they did a whole series of Disney songs in a pop-punk style, and that went over super well with their fans on YouTube.

With Clayton there, their band room group blossomed into a quintet with a few other guys cycling in and out. Lawson Crouse could hold his own on the piano, but they weren’t really going for that sound. They played around with Jakob Chychyrun, too; there was a whole lot they could try out, up to and including an EP that they recorded in a studio they pooled their money to rent.

It was an adventure, and Alex was loving it.

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**Hometown band Odd Man Rush to headline Pop Punk’s Not Dead charity shows next month at Basement Transmissions in Erie, PA**

Beau Bennett @beaubennett19 | July 24, 2020

If you were to listen to the buzz around the upcoming Odd Man Rush “Pop Punk’s Not Dead” charity shows in support of United Way of Erie County, you could be forgiven for assuming Odd Man Rush was a much-loved local band rather than an international touring phenomenon, but that’s what you get when you play shows in your hometown.

“Everyone thinks of you as the kids constantly getting in trouble rather than serious musicians,” bassist Alexander DeBrincat says with good humor. “It’s what happens when you come home.”

Despite growing up all over the country, DeBrincat still views Erie as his hometown, as do the rest of his bandmates: Dylan Strome (singer), Alexander Nylander (drummer), Clayton Keller (guitar) and Nick Merkley (guitar).

The pop-punk group, which formed in Erie in 2015, has a well-earned reputation as a relentless touring band, performing upwards of 300 shows in the past year alone across three continents and eighteen countries. As far as they travel, Erie still holds a special place in their hearts.

“It’s where everything came together,” DeBrincat says, grinning. “We try to play here whenever we can. Keeps our egos in check—and we get to spend time with friends and family we don’t get to see that often. We’re very, very blessed in where we get to go and what we get to do—and that everyone here is still willing to come and see us!”

Come and see them, they do. Odd Man Rush has sold out every hometown show they’ve played within thirty minutes of ticket sales going live. 

“We’re not the same band we used to be,” DeBrincat explains. “The songs we write now aren’t anything like what we started out with—but when we play in Erie, we play older songs we never do anywhere else. So if you want to hear some of those songs, coming to see us in Erie is probably your only opportunity to do so!” 

Odd Man Rush has a constantly evolving sound with a different attitude to the world around them. 

“We started off angsty and more punk, and as we’ve gotten older we’ve softened more, in a way. We’ll always have that attitude, but we’re not angry teenagers desperate to leave our hometown anymore. So our songs are a little less harsh, a little more melodic,” DeBrincat says. “But that’s the way it goes. We don’t want to write inauthentic music—it wouldn’t feel right to us or our fans if we tried to be the angry teenagers we were five years ago. People look for that authenticity. They want to feel like someone feels like they do, and that’s what we strive for. As we change, so do our songs.”

Odd Man Rush’s songwriting process, according to DeBrincat, hasn’t changed much as their success grew.

“We’ve headed out to Lake Conneaut for every one of our releases, spent a couple of weeks up there putting together the album and songwriting. We used to start with the music and add lyrics on top, but as we’ve grown we’ve been able to write the two together much more smoothly. It’s more of a team collaboration than each of us writing our own songs. It’s a special time for all of us to camp out in a cabin and make sure we’re writing the best album possible.”

Recently, though, the band has been focusing on their Pop Punk’s Not Dead show.

“We’ve played shows in Erie before, but this time we really wanted to give back. Erie’s given us a lot, so we’re proud to be working with United Way of Erie County.”

Thus, the two-day mini-festival includes a food and clothing drive in support of United Way, and all proceeds will benefit local families in need. There will be a photo booth, local vendors, and of course, plenty of music. 

On Saturday, Odd Man Rush will perform their most recent show in full, complete with pyrotechnics and their latest music. On Sunday, they’ll dig deep into their discography and take fan requests for songs.

**Punk Pop’s Not Dead Fest**

WITH: Odd Man Rush, Suburban Heartbreakers, and Barnburners, 

WHEN: Saturday (sold out) and 5:35 p.m. Sunday, with early entry starting at 2 p.m. for those who bring two canned food items or one toy 

WHERE: Basement Transmissions

TICKETS: $28.50 

MORE INFO: basementtransmissions.org or visit Odd Man Rush on Facebook

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**NOW**

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For all his shit, Lexy loves them all deeply. It’s why they’ve ended up at the Nylander family cabin for every album they’ve written, and for plenty of weekends besides. It was the place where they got to become a band and not just friends; with all the shit going down with Dylan and Connor, it seemed like a good time to get up away and disconnect for a while. They’d already planned to spend three weeks up there, but it became a much better idea to head up sooner than later.

Carrick booked them on the same flight from ORD to ERI. The five of them took up half of the first class section.

“Oh thank god,” Lexy said, dropping into his seat. “God bless Carrick. I thought we were going to have to sit in the tiny seats.”

“Economy is not that bad,” Clayton said mildly.

“You’re 5’10, I am 6’3,” Dylan retorted. He was much less mopey since they’d all congregated in Chicago, but Alex still caught him in pensive moments. “And you’re not all leg.”

“He does have a weirdly elongated torso,” Nick chipped in, much to the exhausted exasperation of everyone else boarding. “No leg, all abs.”

Lexy made a face. “Nope, nope, nope. Headphones on, talk to you all later.”

The flight was, thankfully, uneventful. Getting their massive amount of luggage and gear out of the oversized baggage claim was a little more tricky, but at least they didn’t have to worry about wrangling a cab. Mrs. Nylander picked them up at the airport in her van; Dylan and Nick still had cars in Erie, but they were kept in storage. Mrs. Nylander, with six athletic kids, had a fifteen-passenger van big enough for them and all their shit, and refused to let them call an Uber or book a town car.

“It’s good to see you all,” she said cheerfully, leaning across the passenger side to smile at them through the open window. “Alexander, honey, get the trunk?”

Both Alex and Lexy went around to pop the trunk; as the hatch popped, they were greeted with two near-identical blonde girls leaning over the backseat, staring at them.

Lexy swore in surprise, nearly dropping his suitcase. “Ah, hi!”

“Alexander swore,” one of them said. Alex wasn’t proud, but he wasn’t sure which one of them it was. Judging by the ages, he was relatively certain it was either Stephanie or Daniella, but that was as far as he was going to get.

“Well, then help him put the bags in the back, ladies.”

Alex was only vaguely ashamed that a preteen girl was definitely better equipped to deadlift their instruments and suitcases than he was.

“I brought your old drum kit out of the attic storage,” Mrs. Nylander told them cheerfully when they were all jammed into all the available seats. “And your dad helped us pack everything into your minivan, Nick.”

Nick, who was jammed into the back row with Lexy’s younger sisters and looking deeply uncomfortable with his lot in life, offered up an awkward smile and squeaked when one of Lexy’s younger sisters poked him. “Thanks, Mrs. Nylander. My dad texted me about the van, but I didn’t realize you’d loaded anything into it.”

“Oh, we were glad to help.”

The plan was to spend the night in Erie with their families, and then head out for Lake Conneaut in the morning. It was only about an hour drive, but they’d undoubtedly get a late start. Clayton’ stepmom constantly worried over them and usually conspired with Dylan’s dad to feed them an epic breakfast feast.

This trip was no different; after a night spent at home with their families, they all gathered at the Nylander house, where Dylan’s dad had set up an electric griddle and was churning out pancakes like no one in the house had eaten in months and he was going to single-handedly fix that.

Alex, who was used to Mr. Strome’s particular brand of fussing, took a plate of pancakes and a serving of fruit salad, and went to sit at one of the folding tables Lexy’s mom had popped up in the den.

“Your parents weren't able to make it?” Dylan asked through a mouthful of bacon when Alex set his plate down.

Alex grimaced. “Have they ever?”

“I thought your mom was coming?” Clayton asked. “I mean, I know you were spending the night with her--”

“I think she thought _your_ mom was going to ask her about the divorce,” Alex said, sitting down. He shrugged. “It’s fine. She dropped me off, so I didn’t have to catch an Uber.”

Nick bumped his foot against Alex’s under the table in solidarity; his parents never showed up either, despite the fact that their divorce was old news at this point.

There was a shriek from behind them, as Lexy’s younger sisters realized the brunet Keller they’d grabbed from behind was, in fact, Jake Keller and not Clayton. Jake swore loudly enough to get his ear swatted by Mrs. Nylander, who was passing through the kitchen with her coffee cup for a refill.

Over the years, their families had gotten close, and the atmosphere was almost enough to make up for the fact that Alex’s parents and brother weren’t there. Ryan and Matty Strome weren’t, either, or Nick’s mom.

Alex was usually pretty grateful for the extra extended family. Clayton’s stepmom sent them all lengthy chain emails and texts with lots of exclamation points, and Dylan’s dad was always determined to feed them. Lexy’s parents were equal parts baffled by his career choice and determined to support him, and that befuddled support transferred over to the rest of his band. Nick and Alex’s parents were a little more distant, but still firmly in the loud, messy orbit that OMR created.

As much as Alex loved his parents and brother, this was also his family, and he wished his parents understood why he’d opt to spend Christmas on the road with his band instead of booking a flight home for a stilted dinner and carefully posed photographs.

Breakfast took longer to wrap up than anyone had planned, but they’d all come to expect that at this point. It took half an hour to disentangle themselves from the mass of siblings and parents, and another fifteen minutes to get everything sorted into the right vehicle for the trip up to the cabin.

“You boys be safe up there,” Mrs. Nylander said, giving Lexy a kiss on the forehead and the cabin keys to Clayton. “And remember to clean up after yourselves. I don’t care if you have a party or two, but don’t leave anything the girls can get into.”

Alex wasn’t worried about it; Lexy would murder them all if anything happened to his little sisters, to say nothing of Lexy’s older brother and sister.

“We will,” Lexy said, hugging his mom tightly. “I’ll call when we get up there.”

They drove in two cars, Dylan’s dumb Prius and Nick’s beloved but much-maligned minivan. Alex, by merit of being the shortest, got jammed into the backseat of the Prius behind Dylan and Lexy, with Clayton and Nick hauling their gear up in the minivan.

“I hate you all,” he grumbled.

“Should have grown a few extra inches,” Lexy told him cheerfully, flipping through his ancient iPod as Dylan backed them out of the Nylander family driveway. “Not our fault you’re tiny as fuck.”

Alex flipped him off.

They were all very familiar with long trips together in small spaces and didn’t feel the need to fill the car with chatter. Instead, Dylan had a podcast going—something with gory true crime murders, while Lexy stretched out with his big sound-canceling headphones on and occasionally tapped out a beat with his fingers on the dashboard. Alex himself played a game on his phone, half-listening to Dylan’s podcast.

He knew, even without being in the van, that Nick had turned up some classic rock to an obnoxiously high level, and that he and Clayton were shouting along the lyrics. The guys were predictable.

There was something reassuring about knowing the rest of his band inside and out, even when that meant Alex knew exactly when Lexy was going to demand a pitstop and immediately start bitching about Dylan’s murder fetish.

Alex leaned against the cool glass of the car window, humming to himself.

They’d been lucky, the five of them. This band thing--it was working out. No one was struggling with a crippling addiction, even though they could all maybe over-indulge a little. If the worst thing about them on the internet was Dylan’s on-again off-again thing with Connor McDavid and some eye-searingly explicit porn written by fangirls, that was pretty okay. They were a band who’d weathered some shitty stuff together, and Alex was going to take this time at the cabin to get over his crush on Dylan once and for all. It’d be good; it had always ended up well before.

He hummed quietly to himself, the chorus of one of the songs Cayla was buying from him.

“You sound happy,” Dylan said, over his podcast.

“I am,” Alex said, and it was only half a lie.

The cabin hadn’t changed. It was still a cabin in the Pennsylvania woods with bunk beds and plaid armchairs, surrounded by trees and accessible only on a one-lane gravel path. After they’d recorded their first album, Lexy’s family had let him convert one of the rooms into a soundproofed studio with recording equipment, even though half of the time it doubled as storage for the workout equipment Lexy’s dad and brother used when they were there.

Alex hadn’t grown up at the cabin, but he had spent plenty of weekends there his senior year, and stretches of summer almost every year since. It was never much different--they wrote songs, played music, swam in the lake and had bonfires, got drunk off of shitty beer--but it was comforting to be there.

Clayton took charge of load-in, directing everyone on where things needed to go. After years of living out of tour buses and cramped vans, much less the number of times they’d loaded into the cabin itself, they barely needed direction. Nevertheless, Clayton bossed the rest of them into putting things away instead of leaving them piled up inside the front door.

They had a routine at the cabin. Clayton and Alex would share, by merit of being habitual early risers who liked to go running first thing in the morning. Alex always got the top bunk since Clayton slept-walked sometimes. Dylan and Nick, the slobs, would share the other room with bunk beds--partially since no one else could stand the hurricane of messiness and partially so no one murdered Lexy, who got his own room since he snored like a freight train.

Once the cars were unloaded, Clayton recruited Alex to test all their recording equipment while Nick and Dylan headed into town to collect groceries and Lexy called his mom to figure out where the extra blankets were being stored.

“You doing okay?” Clayton asked, double-checking the soundproofing panels hung around the room.

Alex was booting up their laptops, hooking Clayton’s up to the soundboard; he’d get the other guys’ when they were back from town. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You kinda went AWOL for a while there. Just checking in.”

Alex shrugged. “I needed a break. I was in LA, so.”

Clayton gave Alex a side-eye. “You hate LA.”

“I do not. Stop fretting, _mom_.”

Clayton put his hands up. “Okay, okay. I just worry about everyone.”

“Go corner Lands, if you want to worry.”

“Why am I getting cornered?” Lexy asked, rounding the corner. “I found the blankets, anyways. Willy stored them in the closet of the master bedroom.”

“Clayton wanted to fret over someone, and you’re the one who’s been dumped recently.”

Lexy made a face. “Oh, god. Please don’t.”

Clayton made a cooing noise, leaning over to pinch at Lexy’s cheeks. “Oh, but I’m the band mom, apparently. It’s my job to worry.”

“Worry about Dylan, he’s the one with his shit all over the internet.”

“Mm. Remind me to check his phone usage,” Clayton said, making a face.

“Wait, you have a net nanny on his phone?” Lexy demanded.

Clayton waved a hand airily. “I’ve got a net nanny on all your phones. It’s just a matter of making Dylan not realize Connor’s been blocked on his instagram.”

Lexy and Alex exchanged looks, and changed the subject.

“I think I’ve got a good dozen songs for consideration,” Alex said. “Plus what we were working on together before the break, Clayton.”

Clayton perked up. “With the trumpet?”

“I guess we’re all looking forward to writing this week?” Lexy asked. “I’ve got some stuff I want your input on.”

“Yeah, I’m excited,” Alex said, and he really was.

The studio was an amazing place to be when they hit their stride. There was nothing like writing, like piecing together songs into a coherent album. Dylan had a creative vision for most of their work; this album wasn’t going to be any different.

Writing an album was never easy, even though they had a concept locked down. They knew more of what they were doing now that they were producing their third album, but it was still a mess. For as much as they’d learned to write songs together, they all had different talents and often wrote drastically different songs.

Dylan wrote angry, hurt anthems that crowds loved to scream along to, the kind of song that got radio play and a music video filmed in cool colors. Alex tended towards honest, messy love songs, which maybe said a little more about himself than he wanted to admit. Clayton wrote punk anthems and songs about being young, while Lexy kicked ass at slower love ballads, weirdly enough. Nick was mainly there to write killer guitar solos. He was good at it, and especially talented at suggesting tweaks that took a song from good to amazing.

It was a productive and well-practiced workflow, putting their songs into a pile for consideration and playing them for each other, starting to riff off of each other’s pieces. There were riffs and chord progressions that they could fit into other songs, puzzle pieces that clicked when they brought their pieces to the table to work on together. It felt good to be productive. Alex loved working, and he’d loved working in LA with Seabs and Cayla, but there was really nothing quite like working with his band, when they were so intimately familiar with each others’ writing styles and strengths.

Alex was riding the general high of their collaboration, editing a sheet ripped out of his songwriting journal, when his phone rang.

Lexy, who was across the room and babysitting their phones on a makeshift charger station, leaned over to check the caller ID. “It’s Carrick.”

“Throw it on speaker,” Alex said, scratching at his paper. “It’s probably for all of us.”

“Hey, guys,” Carrick said cheerfully when Lexy hit the answer button. “You all made it out to Conneaut safely?”

“No thanks to Dylan’s driving, but yeah,” Alex answered. “You’re on speaker, we’re all here. You call just to chat?”

“Oh, never. Too much going on around here. I was mostly calling to check in on some stuff. Dylan and McDavid got spotted by a blind gossip blog, but that’s hardly anything new, and McDavid’s people have already started a damage control campaign, so there’s not much we need to do.”

Dylan, across the room, was flushed red and not making eye contact with anyone.

“We’re playing hot potato with his phone anyways,” Clayton said, dropping onto the couch beside Alex.

“Good man,” Carrick said. There was a clicking of keyboard keys, and then, “We’re confirming final details for crew and the Erie show next month, and we’re fielding some requests for you guys to open on a few different tours once you finish recording, but obviously the album’s going to take priority.”

“Anyone interesting?” Nick chimed in.

“Ah, no one I have any particularly strong opinions on, but you might. Check your emails, I’ll be forwarding you the proposals, but honestly--you don’t need to open for anyone unless it’s someone you really like. I’d hold out for a co-headliner, or just set up a tour of your own.” Carrick hummed, keys clattering again. “I know you’ve still got your third album to get out, but you might want to start discussing if you’ll be leaving Pure Noise after you fulfill the terms of your contract.”

Clayton and Alex exchanged glances. “Do you know something we don’t?” Clayton asked.

“Not that I’m currently aware of, but it might be good to have an alternative plan if Pure Noise tries to get you for less than you’re worth to them. If you’re happy, we can try to renew.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Dylan cut in. “Anything else, Carrick?”

“The usual stuff: you’ll all have cases of fanmail once you’re back in Chicago; I’ll be shipping you some merch you’ll need to sign while you’re all in one place; you’ve got a couple of photoshoots and interviews coming up, but nothing too soon. We cleared your schedules out pretty good for the writing break.” Carrick ruffled some papers. “Oh and, Alex—quick heads up, letting you know that your solo stuff registry numbers processed—”

The room fell into a terse silence. Alex felt himself swallow.

“Solo stuff?” Lexy asked, cutting through the quiet.

“Carrick, I’ll call you back,” Alex said, and fumbled for his phone.

“Wait, did you--” was all Carrick managed before Alex terminated the conversation by stabbing at the end call button.

His bandmates were staring at him.

“So, you wanna explain that?” Lexy asked flatly. “Actually, I don’t care if you want to explain it. Start talking.”

Alex scrubbed his hands through his hair. “So I have some stuff that I wrote that is completely not OMR material, and while I was in LA I was recording demos to get the songs trademarked so I can start selling them.”

“By not OMR material, you mean, what, exactly?”

“Country pop.”

Clayton blinked. “Oh, that explains a lot.”

Lexy and Nick both turned to Clayton, who had relaxed back into his seat. Dylan was still watching Alex as if he expected Alex to bolt from the room and embark on a solo career at any second.

“Explains what?”

“Well, Cayla, mostly,” Clayton said. “You were selling songs to her, right?”

Alex nodded. “Two of ‘em, yeah.”

“Yeah, so it’s all good. Maybe give us a heads-up next time?”

Dylan threw up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, our agent tells us he’s recording solo stuff and you’re just telling him to _warn us next time_?”

Alex snorted. “It’s not like I’m going to be a solo artist at any point, I just wanted to copyright some stuff I’ve had kicking around since we were in high school.” He shrugged. “Guys, it’s not a big deal. Clayton’s done it. Dylan, you’ve done it.”

“It’s not a big deal?” Nick said, looking Alex dead in the eyes. “You swear?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Alex confirmed. “I just wanted to get some stuff registered and have the demos for if I decide to sell them.”

There was another tense moment where Dylan was clearly deciding if he wanted to believe Alex or not. Clayton’s well-applied elbow to Dylan’s ribs probably didn’t help the decision, but Dylan did let the subject drop.

The topic settled for now, Alex called back Carrick to make sure there wasn’t any other business they needed to handle.

“Sorry to start drama,” Carrick said when he picked up. “But you really should tell your band these things to avoid this kind of problem.”

Alex winced. “Yeah, that’s on me. Was there anything else we needed to talk about?”

“Well, if you throw me on speaker we can finish talking about the stuff I’m sending your way for signing. I can come out in person if you think it’s going to be a thing; easier than sending it by courier, probably.”

“Probably not necessary,” Alex said and put the phone on speaker. “So, signing?”

As always, figuring out what they needed to sign was a mess; Alex could already smell the phantom sharpie fumes and resigned himself to a cramped wrist in the near future. Carrick decided against coming out, though he definitely threatened to if anyone hinted he should.

Alex just figured Carrick wanted to get out of LA for a little while.

As they were wrapping up the phone call, Dylan started setting the sheet music he had picked out for consideration onto the coffee table. Lexy and Clayton followed suit, Merks adding far less to the pile. Alex, still talking Carrick down from sending extra sharpies, absentmindedly pulled his folder out from his laptop bag and chucked it atop the pile. Clayton started taking out the songs, rolling his eyes at Alex.

“We’ll call you if we need you,” Alex promised. “Don’t you have other clients to harass?”

“None of them are half so fun as you,” Carrick said cheerfully. “Right, talk to you tomorrow. I want confirmation that those boxes arrived.”

“We’ll send you photos,” Alex said, and hung up before Carrick could argue he needed to come out to see them in person again.

Going through the potential songs for an album was one of Alex’s favorite parts of the album process. He had a general idea of what was on the table, just because they all tended to share their works in progress, but there were always a few surprises in the mix.

There were a few that immediately got shunted into the yes and no piles, and a few more that got put into the “depending on which way we take the album” pile based on reputation alone, and then they just started picking through the remaining songs to see if there were any that stuck out in particular.

Dylan picked up a sheet from the table and skimmed over it. “Huh. Who wrote this one? It’s really good.”

Kells took the sheet and glanced over it, showing it to Lexy. “Not me.”

“Not mine.”

Dylan took the song back from Kells and hummed the opening bars.

The bottom of Alex’s stomach dropped out, and that was before Dylan started singing the first verse.

Alex has been doing fine with this dumb crush, but hearing Dylan sing his own words back at him with an acoustic guitar was--kind of a lot. It was too much.

“I didn’t mean to put that in the pile,” he says, going ahead and taking the sheet from Dylan. “Forget it, that one’s not for consideration.”

“So first you go record songs without us, and now you don’t want us to look at stuff you’ve written?” Dylan demanded. “Come on, Kitty, what the hell?” Dylan grabbed the song back from Alex. “This is amazing. It’s totally going in the album pile.”

Alex, feeling panic and dread bubble up in his throat, grabbed the song back from Dylan and ripped it into quarters, chucking the pieces in the direction of the trash. “I don’t fucking want it on the album,” he snapped into the sudden silence of the room. “End of story. Forget about it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell,” Dylan managed. “Here, give me that--we can still put it together, we can still fix it--”

“Dude, we need that song,” Lexy added. “Don’t pussy out now, it’s--I don’t know what you were saying about it not being OMR material but it’s totally OMR material.”

Clayton was looking at Alex with a look of increasing horror. “Alex--”

“No, it’s final. I don’t want it on the album,” Alex snapped, and headed for the door. As he was leaving, Nick was returning from the bathroom.

“Hey, are we still talking about the thing?” Nick asked, eternally cheerful. Alex shoved past him and kept going.

From behind him, Alex could hear Nick saying “Whoa, what did I miss?”

Alex didn’t stick around to hear the answer anyone gave.

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**THEN**

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Mrs. Nylander had accepted four extra teenage boys lurking around her home like it was nothing.

Though, to be fair, Lexy’s dad and older brother were both professional hockey players, so four extra teenage boys was nothing compared to the team gatherings Alex had witnessed. She never batted an eye when he showed up. Instead, she just pushed a plate of leftovers at Alex, ruffled his hair, and pointed him towards Lexy’s room. Sometimes she murmured something in Swedish, but she never asked questions, probably seeing on his face that he was exhausted from hearing his parents fight.

Lexy understood too, for all that his parents seemed like a fairytale romance.

“We moved a lot when I was little,” Lexy admitted one of those nights. “Mamma hated it. They’d scream at each other every time my dad had to move for work, and--they were in therapy for a long time.”

Alex was sitting on one of the twin beds in Lexy’s room, the bed that ostensibly belonged to Lexy’s older brother, who had never actually been in this particular house. Lexy was sprawled out on his own, playing FIFA on his XBOX, homework abandoned all around them. “It’s better now that we’re settled.”

“Mine are just waiting for me to move out,” Alex said. “Ever since Andrew left for college it’s just gotten worse. I wish they’d just ignore each other. It’d be better than all the yelling.”

Lexy nodded, not totally getting it, but that was fine.

They all had their own issues; they were from a mix of families, Lexy with his million sisters, Dylan with his staidly quiet parents, Alex with his parents on the verge of splitting up, Nick who shut up anytime anyone talked about parents, Clayton with his parents long divorced and new step-parents firmly grafted into his life. 

Alex may have not always felt at home with his family, but his friends more than made up for it. It made it easier to survive senior year, knowing there was always going to be someone to answer the phone.

The feeling was reinforced when they spent the weekend up at the Nylander family cabin, the five of them jammed into the old hand-me-down station wagon Dylan drove. The back doors stuck, and the radio didn’t work, so Dylan kept a Bluetooth speaker in one of the cupholders. It wasn’t the best car, but Dylan was the only one of their group with a car he could actually drive wherever he wanted so it wasn’t like they were going to complain.

Their group didn’t really know each other from outside of school, outside of lunch in the band room, and the scattered shared class, but Lexy had invited them and they’d all accepted, so that had to mean something.

Lexy was the most at ease, but he was a drummer. Drummers were always a little weird. Not goalie weird, but still weird.

“My family doesn’t come out here a lot,” Lexy said. “I think they rent it out, mostly.”

“I thought your family didn’t really spend a lot of time in Pennsylvania,” Dylan said. He flicked his blinker and merged into the next lane over; Alex had opinions about Dylan’s driving and they were mostly not flattering. “Like, your dad and brother are both up in Mississauga, right?”

“Willy’s with the Marlies and my dad is coaching for the Steelheads, yeah,” Lexy replied. “But my dad just always liked Pennsylvania, so when I was a kid my parents bought the cabin, and we’d come up here when they could spare the time. It got to the point where my mom wanted my sisters to not have to move all the time, so they picked Pennsylvania as their like, home base.”

“Because hockey?”

“I guess.”

Beside Alex, Clayton shifted, his elbow jamming into Alex’s side. “Sorry!”

“How much longer?” Nick asked from Alex’s other side. “I thought you said it was only like an hour.”

“It’s the middle of winter, roads are icy!” Dylan protested. “We want to get there, like, alive, right!”

“And yet we let you drive,” Alex retorted. “So our odds of getting there in one piece are, what, a solid 50/50?”

Dylan flipped him off.

That was their first weekend at the cabin, the first of many. Alex hadn’t known it at the time, but that weekend would be the start of everything else. In that moment, though, Alex was jammed into the middle of the back bench seat, Dylan’s shitty bluetooth speaker rattling in the cupholder and Clayton humming along, with Lexy and Nick bickering amicably over what they should play next. It didn’t feel like a beginning, but it did feel like belonging.

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 **Instagram Video, @** **_lexynylander_ ** **• 23h**

[Dylan Strome is driving on a sunlit afternoon, singing along to the radio, headbanging and shimmying in his seat]

Strome: _—thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun, and oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m—_

[camera flips to selfie view to Nylander slowly shaking his head]

Strome, off-screen: _—a lady, men’s shirts, short skirts, oh, oh, oh—_

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 **Instagram Video, @** **_lexynylander_ ** **• 23h**

[Dylan Strome is still driving, but is now wearing a cowboy hat, still dancing. The video is captioned WHY in pink.]

Strome: — _through despair and hope, through faith and love, ‘til we find our place on the path unwinding, in the circle, the circle of life—_

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 **Instagram Video, @** **_alexdebrincat_ ** **• 23h**

[From the backseat, Alex DeBrincat films an unimpressed Lexy Nylander in the passenger seat while Dylan Strome, driving, is belting along to the radio in a cowboy hat and pink feather boa]

DeBrincat, through laughter: _\--WATERLOO--_

Strome: _\--I was defeated--_

Nylander: I hate you both.

DeBrincat: they’re your people!

Strome: _—you won the war—_

Nylander: I barely speak Swedish!

Strome: _\--WATERLOO!_

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 **Instagram Video, @** **_claytonkellerOMR_ ** **• 23h**

[Front-facing camera view of Clayton Keller in the passenger seat of a large van, grinning widely]

Keller: yo, so we’re driving up to the cabin in two cars, right--Merks is driving right now, say hey to the people, Merks--

Nick Merkley, offscreen: heyo!

Keller: --and we stopped for gas while the other guys kept going, and we’re catching up to them now, right? And what do we see--

[Camera view flips to film outside the car, showing a silver Prius visibly bouncing on its suspension; Dylan Strome and Alex DeBrincat are visibly headbanging; Lexy Nylander rolls down the window, looking visibly unimpressed and music is audible in the background]

Merkley: oh, no, are they--

Keller, laughing: — _uptown funk you up, uptown funk you up--_

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**NOW**

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Dyls found Alex pretty easily. Throughout their high school years, Alex would always end up one of two places when he was upset: at the skatepark or on the roof. Dylan had tracked him down in both places too many times to count--when school had been hellish, when Alex’s parents had been separated, when Alex had just wanted to rip his hair out for feeling trapped in their town. So it wasn’t really surprising to hear a window creak open and for Dylan’s dumb haircut to appear over the slant of the roof.

“Hey,” Dylan started, and then stopped. He slid a little on the roof, coming to a stop next to Alex and pressing up against Alex’s side.

It was quiet for a moment, Alex not wanting to talk and Dylan so clearly not sure what to say.

“That song meant a lot to you,” Dylan said, voice low.

Alex dropped his face down to rest on his forearms, drawing his knees even closer to his chest. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Thought I could handle you guys seeing it. I was wrong.”

“It’s an amazing song, Brinksy.”

“But it’s personal,” Alex told him, feeling the frustration down to his toes. “And--it’s hard hearing you guys dissect it when it was hard to write in the first place.”

“You’ve never had that issue before.”

“Which is why this one blindsided me.” Alex peeked over his arm to glance at Dylan, who was of course backlit by the sun and practically glowing in the late evening. “I just--I don’t know, Stromer. I don’t think I can hear you sing it on tour, or answer questions about the writing process, or--or anything to do with it.”

“So you want to sing it instead?”

Alex could practically hear the wheels turning in Dylan’s head as he thought of arrangements and tour performances, and Alex just knew something brilliant was boiling there. Alex couldn’t stand it--the thought of baring his soul like that, night after night. That idea felt even worse than having to hear Dylan sing it over and over again.

“No.” Alex shut that down. “I just want you to forget about it, okay? It’s too much. I didn’t mean to submit it, and it’s not a song I want on the album, and especially not one we tour with. It was a mistake to put it in the pile. Like, a genuine mistake. It wasn’t supposed to be in that folder.”

Dylan clearly still wanted to argue, but he blessedly let the matter drop, so it was just the two of them sitting on the roof. It was a good moment, but it had to come to an end; Dylan finally excused himself to put sunscreen on and go for a run with Nick, now that he knew Alex was okay. 

Alex, for his part, stayed on the roof, soaking up the sun and taking deep breaths to try to get his heart rate down to something resembling normal.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed insistently with an incoming call. Alex groaned and rifled through his pockets, catching the call on the last ring.

“Got your text,” Cayla said, instead of a greeting. “Which song was it? One of the ones I’m doing?”

“It’s not one of the ones you’ve seen,” Alex said, slumping down so he was lying rather than sitting on the roof. “It’s--not as obvious, but it’s maybe more emotional.”

“Did he figure it out?”

“He thought it should go on the album.”

Cayla snorted. “Can I guess how you reacted to that? Because I can guess how you reacted to that. You flipped.”

“I’m on the roof,” Alex admitted. “Also, sorry if my angst is interrupting your day.”

“Please. I’m not doing much until next week. Would it sound good?”

“What?”

“With Dylan singing the song. Would it sound good?”

Alex stared at the lake, glimmering in the afternoon sun. “I mean, yeah. He’s got a great voice.”

“So you can’t tell him he sounds shit and he’s ruining it.”

That startled a laugh out of Alex. “I think he could sing the phonebook.”

Alex could practically hear the skepticism in Cayla’s voice when she replied “wow, you really are just gone on him, aren’t you?”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t been this pathetic before.” Cayla sighed, something rustling on her end of the line. “It’d be cute if this was a movie.”

“It’s not a movie.”

“Pretty fucking entertaining from where I’m standing,” Cayla retorted. “So what are you going to do?”

“Burn it?”

That got a genuine laugh out of Cayla. “You got a lighter somewhere?”

“Please, I’ve always got a lighter somewhere. I just don’t know if that’ll help anything.”

“You told them no.”

“Yeah, but Dylan can be like a dog with a bone when he thinks he’s in the right, and he definitely thinks he’s in the right when it comes to what should go on the album. I don’t think he’s going to let this drop.”

“You could tell them it’s about me and you’re embarrassed I’d hear it,” Cayla offered. “Or I could come out there and kick his ass.”

“Like that would help.”

“It might.” Cayla sighed. “You’re going to have to face it at some point, DeBrincat.”

“Can’t I put it off a while longer?”

“You could,” Cayla said. “But it’s just going to make it worse in the long run. You might just have to bite the bullet.”

Alex sighed. He knew Cayla was right.

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Alex had been right. Dylan wasn’t going to let it go, not when he thought the song would be a good fit and not when he didn’t have a good reason why Alex wanted it off the record. Clayton was on Alex’s side, but Lexy and Nick both thought it was a good fit for their theme.

Odd Man Rush generally got along. They didn’t fight about a lot of things; it was the only way to survive as long as they had with as intense of a schedule as they had without losing their minds. This song, though, was apparently perfectly timed to drive a wedge in, because the whole thing did turn into a fight.

“I told you,” Alex snapped. “It’s off the table. Not going to happen.”

“It’s so good, though,” Dylan pressed. Nick, having both tired of the argument and drank about fourteen cups of coffee, excused himself to the restroom, and Alex thought half-heartedly about following him. “Come on, I want to just try it. Play it a few times, see if it’ll work.”

“It’s not going to, so drop it.”

Dylan didn’t drop it. Even though they had another song on the table between them that they were working on, even though Alex actually, genuinely put his foot down on so few things, Dylan kept needling at Alex.

It was a good thing Alex loved Dylan as much as he did, because he was getting really fed up with Dylan being so damn insistent. It probably had to do with the fact that it was a distraction from whatever Connor had done to him, and that was just the whole problem in a nutshell, wasn’t it?

Apparently, Clayton also couldn’t hold it in any more, because he was the one who exploded. “Jesus, Dylan, cut him some slack. Can’t you tell he’s in love with you?”

The room slid to a halt. It wasn’t silent, not with the hum of the air conditioner and the crinkle of paper in Alex’s hands.

Dylan’s expression was of stunned horror. Alex knew his own expression couldn’t be much better.

Clayton, at least, had his hands clamped over his mouth, eyes round with the realization of what he’d just said. Lexy was gaping, eyes flicking back and forth between Dylan and Alex.

“What,” Lexy said, clearly and deliberately. “The hell, Keller.”

A lot of things happened in the next second: Dylan lunged for the torn sheet music and Lexy lunged for Dylan. Alex started babbling excuses, and Nick returned from the bathroom.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Clayton grabbed Alex’s wrist and hauled him from the room, leaving Dylan to sputter, Lexy to restrain Dylan, and Nick to wonder what the hell had just happened.

Clayton, mercifully, didn’t say anything until they were far away from the house. Alex followed him, feeling like his head was spinning out in a thousand directions.

“I’m sorry,” Clayton said finally, when they were on the dock down on the lake. The water was lapping around the boats anchored there, and in the distance, Alex could hear people shouting. “That wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“Well,” Alex said. He ached with uncertainty. “You told it anyways. Fuck.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m furious.” Alex exhaled through his teeth, and closed his eyes, focusing on the steady lap of water against the dock. “But it’s not like you can take it back, or I can make it not weird anymore. Dunno if there’s gonna be a band for me to go back to, now, or if Dylan’s gonna insist I have to leave.”

“He’s not gonna do that.” Clayton nudged Alex’s shoulder. “If he does, you and me, we’ll do our own thing.”

That made Alex snort. “Your trumpet project?” 

“Guitar and brass is a proven combination that works, and with your voice and my guitar--”

It’s easier to breathe with Clayton there, and Alex let him talk about the side project he’s been eying for ages.

Alex had been dubious when Dylan had dragged this skinny kid into the music room at school, but now Clayton is probably his best friend in the world. Clayton was quiet, practical where the rest of them could run a little wild, but he was also the most determined to see a grand plan through. Where Dylan and Alex were both inclined to thinking in broad, abstract strokes, and where Nick and Lexy lived and bled their instruments, Clayton made things happen for them. They wouldn't be the band they are without Clayton.

“I really am sorry,” Clayton said. “I should have known better. Besides, I’m keeping my own secrets I wouldn’t want blared everywhere.”

Alex thought back over the last year, and-- “Auston.”

Clayton smiled, a deep genuine thing that belied just how in love he was. Alex’s heart ached. “Auston.”

“A year?”

“Little over.” Clayton offered a shy grin. “It wasn’t something we wanted to make public in case it didn’t work out, but then...I dunno. We just kept it quiet.”

“Huh.”

Clayton leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Alex’s. “You know, I think you’ll find it might work out.”

Alex scoffed. “Optimism.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one Dylan goes to for everything. He’s never cried on my couch over Connor McDavid.” Clayton leaned against Alex, a side hug that just turned into Alex holding onto him. “Keep thinking everything will be alright, and eventually it will be. You can’t be wrong all the time.”

It might have been silly, but Alex found himself believing Clayton, just a little.

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**THEN**

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It had already been a weird weekend: It hadn’t taken much to forge his dad’s signature on a note excusing him from his Friday classes, with a flimsy excuse about a family event that the front office wouldn’t bother to check. The signature would match, anyways--Alex had been signing all of his own school forms since the transfer. Dylan hadn’t needed subterfuge for his own note, signing him out to visit his older brother in New York for the weekend--his note had his mom’s actual signature on it. 

It was just going to be the two of them: Nick had a date Friday night and work all day Saturday and half of Sunday, Lexy would be babysitting his twelve million baby sisters, and Clayton was spending the weekend with his mom, since it was her turn for custody. So it ended up being Dylan and Alex driving into NYC to see Jon Toews and the Hartforders play Madison Square Garden.

Both Pittsburgh and Toronto would have been shorter trips, but- _-Madison Square Garden_. When Dylan’s older brother had managed to get them tickets, it wasn’t like Alex was going to say _no_.

They’d taken Dylan’s car--Alex chipped in for gas money.

“I’m glad you’re my best friend,” Dylan had said right as they were setting out, and Alex’s belly had simmered with something like love and excitement. “Who else would skive off school with me?”

“Half the senior class,” Alex joked, instead of replying with something equally mushy in turn. “Come on, like you don't know everyone’s in love with your teen reject look.”

Dylan had rolled his eyes, and handed control of the aux cord to Alex.

Alex wasn’t _dumb._ He knew his thing for Dylan was a bad idea. He might have spent his whole first year in Erie fucking Pennsylvania in denial that he was in love with Dylan, but by the time Davo and Brownie were out of Erie fucking Pennsylvania it wasn’t like there was much for his dumb crush to hide behind. By the time Odd Man Rush had a name and a string of YouTube cover hits, by the time they were an actual band—an honest to God we’re-writing-our-own-music-and-it’s-not-shitty band—by then, Alex _knew_ , alright? He knew about his dumb crush.

And that’s what Alex figured this whole thing was—a dumb crush on his best friend that would go away eventually. He wrote stupid love songs and kept them in the back of his songwriting journal, and planned on saying something to Dylan about it right around the time hell froze over.

He wasn’t dumb enough to act on it. Dylan was still painfully in love with Connor, and with the hundreds of miles between Erie and Nashville it seemed Dylan and Connor were finally getting their shit together. Long distance worked for them, it seemed.

So no, Alex wasn’t going to say anything. They’d graduate soon enough--Alex would meet someone in college, and this crush on Dylan would be resigned to a funny story to tell someday.

It was still hard, especially when Alex and Dylan were like. Legit closer than just about anyone else Alex knew. When Dylan could find Alex anytime, anywhere, because he just knew Alex that well. When their sleepovers inevitably ended with them sharing a damn twin bed. It was as close to dating as Alex could figure, except for the matter of Connor Mc-fucking-David.

But all that was worry for later, stress for another time. For now, there was parking at a house in the suburbs and a subway ride in for a concert, a crowd to blend in with as the venue filled up and the show got going.

Alex had been to concerts before, and they never failed to elate him. It was the same for Dylan, only increased tenfold.

“That’s what I want to do,” Dylan shouted over the roar of the crowd. Madison Square Garden was packed, and Alex could hardly contain his excitement at being there, yet another body losing his mind in a crowd of thousands. Dylan was practically vibrating. “Someday it’s going to be us up there.”

“It’ll be you,” Alex yelled in return. “I’m gonna be an accountant.”

“Like hell I’m doing it without you.” Dylan’s grin was infectious, or maybe that was the crowd whipping itself up into a frenzy.

Alex would have protested, but the band onstage surged into their next song, and anything he could have said vanished in favor of screaming along the lyrics.

After the gig, they took the train out to Long Island, where Dylan’s older brother lived. Ryan wasn’t much older, but he was already playing in the NHL--and living with _John fucking Tavares_.

Alex might have flailed a little when Dylan decided to share that information on the train into Long Island.

“I’m sorry, your brother lives with _who?”_

“JT,” Dylan told him, flicking through the videos he’d taken of the show, swaying as the train started out of the station. They hadn’t found places to sit, but Dylan’s long limbs and pointy elbows had gotten them a little standing space. “I thought you knew?”

“Apparently not,” Alex groused, and decided he didn’t care. For now, he was high off of a concert on a packed train with his best friend in the middle of the night. It was amazing, lighting Alex up from the tips of his toes and spilling out in laughter. Dylan was just as affected. John Tavares was just another aspect of a weekend that didn’t quite feel real yet.

They stumbled off the packed car to change trains, and ended up on a much quieter car, quiet enough they could sit.

“Could you imagine doing that every night?” Dylan asked, slumping back in the seat. “God, I think I’d die.”

Alex shrugged. There were a handful of people who’d changed trains with them, and a handful of other people trekking out to Long Island at one AM. “I bet you get used to it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Dylan declared. “I don’t think I ever could. Everyone singing along like that? It’s amazing.”

“I mean, your brother plays hockey in front of a crowd every night. I bet he gets tired of it.”

Dylan thought. “I mean--it’s different. In hockey they’re cheering _for_ you. In music they’re singing _with_ you. And you’re not trying to win anything. Everyone there already likes you.” He bumped his shoulder against Alex. “And you know, no one cheers for an accountant.”

“No one cheered for us at Katie Delbasso’s party, either,” Alex pointed out. “Well. Except for Jake.”

They’d bribed Jake Keller to film the shitty set they’d played, and they probably hadn’t actually had to bribe him except that Clayton insisted it would make a better story later on. Jake was fourteen and idolized Clayton, four years his senior.

“But people like our YouTube stuff.” Dylan beamed. “And that’s something. No one’s ever famous in their hometown, right?”

Dylan’s brother lived in an NYC suburb, near the Islanders’ practice rink. It was late, but Ryan Strome picked them up at the subway stop.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Dylan said, but he threw himself at Ryan for a hug. Alex hung back a little awkwardly.

“I told you I’d pick you up, so here I am,” Ryan retorted. “Come on. And you too, DeBrincat. Dyls tells me you’ve been doing a band thing; I wanna hear more.”

Ryan showed them around NYC the next day--he clearly was taking deep glee in buying them kitschy souvenirs and taking an infinite amount of photos.

Alex only felt a little awkward about crashing Ryan and Dylan’s brother time, but Ryan just smacked Alex on the arm and shoved a pair of souvenir sunglasses at him when Alex said that aloud.

“Anyone who makes Dylan stop being a broody asshole is family at this point,” he said airly. “Besides, you went with him to that concert so I didn’t have to pretend to be interested in whatever band it was.”

“The Hartforders,” Dylan stressed, popping out from behind a rack of postcards. “Come on, Ry, you know how fuckin’ awesome Jon Toews is.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “See? I’d have to act like I cared, and I didn’t have to, so I owe you one.”

Alex still felt a little weird about it, but Dylan seemed to sense Alex’s awkwardness and threw his arm around Alex’s shoulders.

“Are we gonna go by MSG?” Dylan asked. “Cause I bet they have some giant photos of Henke Lundqvist.”

Ryan shoved at his brother. “Why go to MSG when we could go to Barclays?”

“Uh, because the Islanders suck major donkey balls?” Dylan sniped.

“See if I ever invite you into the city ever again.” Ryan had an honest-to-God pout on his face. “Or buy you a Crosby jersey in the NHL store today.”

Dylan’s demeanor immediately changed. “No, please, I take it back, the Islanders are the best team in the NHL, the best team ever. They haven’t got their asses kicked here to Sunday by the Caps. With you and JT, you are an unstoppable force--”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Ryan groaned. “If I take you to MSG right now, will you _shut up_?”

Alex followed behind the bickering brothers, trying not to laugh.

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 **GQ** : Home > Music> Interviews> Odd Man Rush on their favorite hockey teams

By Meghan Duggan | 23 March 2018

_Each week, we ask one artist or band a set of quick-fire questions that all start with “the first”, from their first shows to the first time they got drunk. Up next is Canadian-American pop-punk band Odd Man Rush, whose sophomore album Champions has charted in the Top 10 for the past eight weeks._

The fact that Odd Man Rush, a pop-punk band from Erie, Pennsylvania, have been consistently charting in the Top 10 despite the fact that their sound is almost nothing like anyone else on the charts should tell you all you need to know about just how resonant their lyrics are with America as a whole. Odd Man Rush, who often go by the abbreviated OMR, broke onto the music scene with a debut album that inspired passionate devotion from fans, and their second album achieved mainstream success. Still in their early twenties, OMR--made up of Dylan Strome, Alex DeBrincat, Alexander Nylander, Clayton Keller, and Nick Merkley--have grown up on the road, with a relentless tour schedule that forms the thematic basis of _Champion,_ their sophomore album. This week, we met up with Strome and DeBrincat to talk about the last three years and how success has impacted them.

**_The first time you all met...._ **

_Dylan Strome_ : We all went to high school together, so--at some point in our education. We were all maybe sixteen years old when we met?

 _Alex DeBrincat_ : Dylan got this group of us together our senior year. I think that was when we all started to hang out together as a group. I transferred to Erie my junior year of high school, and Kells [Clayton Keller], Lexy [Alexander Nylander] and Dylan were all already there. Merks [Nick Merkley] transferred there the year after. That whole year we mostly hung out and played covers for fun, and it all snowballed from there.

**_The first time you played in front of a live audience…_ **

_DS_ : Personally, kindergarten. I played the recorder solo in our Christmas pageant. Never looked back.

 _ADB_ : Our first gig as a band was a house party for one of the guys on the hockey team we all played on. I don’t think anyone remembers we played, but we’ve got video. Our lead guitarist, Clayton Keller--he bribed his brother with beer to stand on a table and film us. You can see that literally no one was paying attention to us, but we were pretty pleased with ourselves.

**_The first time you got drunk…_ **

_ADB_ : Uh, pleading the fifth here.

 _DS_ : The first time I got drunk with the guys in OMR I was seventeen and we were celebrating Merks’ birthday. I think we got my older brother Ryan to buy us the shittiest vodka in the world. It was bad, but it was fun. We had a sixth member back then. I think we lost him after that. Bad vodka weeded out the weak.

**_The first time you fell properly in love…_ **

_ADB_ : I was eighteen, and her name was Josie. I walked in the door, and I just knew--most beautiful girl you ever met, curves to here--

 _DS_ : To be clear, he’s talking about his electric bass guitar. He’s used it for every album we’ve recorded so far and I think he loves it more than he loves anyone on Earth.

**_The first record you ever bought…_ **

_DS_ : I have no idea. My older brother used to take me to the record shop downtown sometimes, so I’m sure I bought something when I was super young with my allowance. The first vinyl I ever bought was the Beatles’ White Album. My parents were super into the Beatles so I grew up listening to them. It felt like a good record to start a collection on.

 _ADB_ : The Black Parade. I was twelve or thirteen, and I was determined to be the most emo kid at my school. Ten years later and I’m in a pop punk band, so...success?

**_The first time you made money out of being a musician…_ **

_ADB_ : Didn’t your mom give us $20 to stop playing in her house? And your brother gave us $40 each to keep playing?

 _DS_ : Ryan Strome, starting our career by wanting to annoy our parents and use our noise to hide the fact that he was still, at twenty-one, sneaking out the window to see his girlfriend. Easiest $60 I ever made.

**_The first time you blew your paycheque frivolously…_ **

_DS_ : My story isn’t going to compete with Alex’s. I bought myself a vintage record player and I’ve been building a collection. Every city we go to I buy an album. I usually have a giant crate of records by the end of tour.

 _ADB_ : Dylan’s already called me out, but--I bought tickets to the 2017 Stanley Cup Finals game 6 for the whole band because we were in San Jose that night. We’re all massive hockey fans, and while we all support different teams, it was amazing to see the Penguins beat the Sharks. We grew up in Pennsylvania, so it was something special--even if Lexy has an unfortunate Leafs attachment. Our whole band has just some nuts connections with hockey. Both of Dylan’s brothers play professionally, Lexy’s brother plays professionally, Merks’ brother plays collegiate hockey. We all played in high school. It was a really special experience to have the five of us there, losing our minds. I am not gonna talk about how expensive it was, though.

**_The first argument you guys had while touring…_ **

_ADB_ : Who had to room with Lexy. The man snores like you wouldn’t believe.

 _DS_ : See, I was going to say who had to sit out when we played Mario Kart. Only four controllers, and there were five of us. Dumb stuff like that. We have a system now.

**_The first time you met a fan…_ **

_DS_ : We got stopped the first time we played an actual club, and this one girl knew all our covers and when we’d posted them, had figured out all our birthdays--

 _ADB_ : That girl was his mom, in case you were wondering. I’m joking. No, uh, I think that was the first time. Her name was Michelle, which I only remember because Lexy’s sister is named Michelle.

**_The first time you, as a band, realised you were good…_ **

_DS:_ Are we good? Critics keep telling us we need to evolve our sound.

 _ADB_ : I think for me, it was when my mom called to tell us she’d heard us on the radio. Before then--I liked our stuff, I knew people liked our stuff, but to have my mom super excited to hear us on the radio, that was a really special moment.

_Head to GQ’s Vero channel to see Dylan and Alex’s TV, book, and music recommendations, plus their favorite places. Follow GQ on Vero for exclusive music and lifestyle news._

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**NOW**

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Nick has always been Dylan’s, bonded over the way Dylan brought him into the fold. Lexy was a little looser, having just shown up on his own. Clayton had always been Alex’s, their shared American citizenship a point of pride in a band of Canadians.

It wasn’t surprising that in the wake of Alex’s secret, Clayton was a little protective of Alex, while Nick was so clearly holding Dylan back. What was surprising was how defensive Nick was of Alex.

“I love you, man,” Alex heard Nick say, an afternoon where they’re all scattered around the house polishing various pieces. Lexy was sitting in the kitchen with his headphones on but watching down the hall to where Nick and Dylan were, serving as a physical barrier between them and Clayton sitting with Alex on the back deck. “But you make shit decisions, and Brinks needs some space right now.”

“I just wanna talk to him.”

“And he doesn’t want to talk to you, so suck it up, Buttercup.” There was a soft thud, like Nick had punched Dylan in the arm. “World’s not all about you, my dude. Let him figure his shit out before you go making him talk about it. Go write an angsty song. You’re good at that.”

Alex thought about that for a while. It was good to know that even if Dylan hated Alex, Nick wasn’t going to be shitty about Alex’s dumb crush.

They gathered for dinner, all five of them piled into Dylan’s Prius. Alex got crammed in the backseat directly behind Dylan, Clayton shoved in the middle and Nick taking up the rest of the back bench. Lexy chatted loudly as he drove, drawing everyone into a conversation that kept Dylan from turning around and talking directly to Alex.

It was almost normal, except for how, when they got into a booth at the local Italian place, Alex and Dylan were as far apart from each other as physically possible. It was awkward, because of course it was awkward. They got through the meal just fine, and Alex made up his mind to get himself a minute of time to himself.

“I think I’m gonna go get ice cream instead of dessert here,” Alex said, disentangling himself from the booth. “I’ll catch up with you at the house.”

“I’ll--” Dylan started, but he was cut off with Nick’s elbow jabbing into his side.

“Nah, man,” Nick said loudly over Dylan, standing up and stretching. “I’ll go with you, Brinks. The place down by the dock, right?”

“I can--” Dylan tried. Nick waved him off.

“You always get brain freeze and bitch about it, I’ll go with Brinks and we’ll Uber back to the house. You guys go ahead, start the bonfire up.” Nick reaches over the table to ruffle Dylan’s hair. “I expect the perfect s’mores coals by the time we get back, nothing less.”

Alex wasn’t really sure what happened, but he was suddenly out the door with Nick herding him along, chatting the whole way.

Nick wasn’t exactly the chattiest in the group, but he was sure talking now. Alex just listened to him as they walked the three blocks to the ice cream shop.

“You go find a table,” Nick said once they got there, shoving Alex towards the outside patio area. “You want something with like, a weird amount of chocolate, right?”

He had disappeared into the shop before Alex could really reply.

Alex rolled his eyes and found a place to sit. Nick wasn’t the most observant person, except for when it came to his band. Alex was pretty sure that Nick could list off all their favorite foods, any allergies, and the phone numbers of their emergency contacts while being completely unable to identify what city they were in.

He found a table, right by the edge of the water. There were a few seagulls swooping around, and families enjoying the warm evening. Bugs swarmed around the streetlamps that were beginning to light up in the twilight.

Nick returned with two ice cream cones, one luridly pink and the other a much more reasonable chocolate brown.

“Triple chocolate chunk for you, bubblegum for me,” Nick said brightly, handing over Alex’s ice cream. “Good table. Wanna talk about your Dylan thing?”

Alex winced and licked at his cone to buy himself a little time. “Did you know before all this?”

“I guessed,” Nick said. “I mean--we’ve all been there, right? But at least my crush wore off.”

Alex didn’t know how to parse that, but one thing stuck out to him. “Your crush?”

Nick laughed. “On Dyls.”

Alex boggled. “I didn’t know that.”

Nick shrugged, taking a bite of ice cream right from his cone; Alex never understood how he didn’t get debilitating brain freeze. “I never let on. Dyls was the first person who was nice to me other than you, y’know, in Erie fucking Pennsylvania? When I moved down from fuckin’ Kelowna, right? And he was openly bi, which I hadn’t ever met anyone like that before, and he was super cool. Plus I suddenly had friends and people who thought I was cool once he brought me into the group. I was _gone_.”

“You still--”

“Nah. Wore off during our first tour. It’s one of those things I’m still a little embarrassed about, and like, I’ll never tell Dyls. But if anyone was gonna get it--y’know, I figured it’d be me.”

Alex shook his head in disbelief. “Are we all crushing on Dyls? Is that a thing in this band now?”

“Lexy’s definitely not,” Nick said. “And Clayton only has eyes for Aus, so I think you’re good.”

Alex boggled again. “You know about that?”

“Anyone with half a brain could see that happening.” Nick offered Alex a tentative smile. “I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t tell me shit. You’re one of my best friends too, and--I know I’ve kind of not been the best at being your friend.”

Alex reached over to fistbump Nick. “It’s fine, man.”

“I’m glad.” Nick grinned. “And I’m glad to kick his ass if you want me to. He’s got it coming anyway, being the dumbass he is.”

“I don’t think you need to go quite that far.”

“You sure? I think he’s been a dumbass if he could have you and he’s been hung up on Connor all this time.”

Alex smiled. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.” Nick bit his cone again. “But like, on a different note, can I get your opinion on the song I’m working on? I like the guitar melody I’ve got, but I can’t make the lyrics fit and I don’t think we want to make Dylan sing the placeholder lyrics I’ve got for a demo.”

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After two days of their band being split down the middle, something had to give. There was no way they could record an album like this, much less tour to promote it. Something had to change.

“Maybe I should just leave the band,” Alex said, slumped on the table and glaring balefully at his songwriting notebook. “Make it easier for everyone. You can work without me for a while, and guitarists aren’t hard to replace.”

Clayton smacked Alex on the back of the head. “We are not replacing you.”

Alex rubbed the back of his head; Clayton didn’t hold back. “Ow. I mean, I guess you could make Dylan actually pick up a guitar once in a while, then.”

“If you leave, I leave,” Clayton said sharply. “And you’re not doing that to poor Merks. He’d cry.”

“I would, he’s right,” Nick called from somewhere in the cabin. “No leaving, leaving’s not an option.”

“Who’s leaving?” Dylan asked suddenly, sticking his head into the hallway. “No one’s leaving.”

“I was just putting it out there.” Alex shrugged. “It might be the easiest option.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you talked to me you wouldn’t have to consider leaving,” Dylan snapped. This time it was Dylan who stormed out of the house.

“We’ll figure this out,” Clayton said before he headed out the door after Dylan.

Alex could only hope.

In the end, it was anticlimactic. Alex looked at Lexy and nodded, and the other guys cleared out for the afternoon.

Dylan clued in quickly, peeking into the living room. “Are we talking about this now?”

Alex shrugged, gearing up to be rejected and kicked out of the band. Odd Man Rush could replace a bassist--or Dylan could even pick up the bass guitar alongside his vocals. It’d be a lot harder to replace their lead singer; it was clear who was going to have to be the one to leave. “Up to you.”

Dylan came and sat across from Alex, watching Alex settle into the armchair.

“How long?” Dylan asked, finally.

Alex sighed. “My first month in Erie. But you were pretty blinded by Connor back then.”

“Why’d you never say anything?”

“When would I have said anything?” Alex countered. “When we were all five of us stuck in a tiny van for months on end? When you were back together with Connor? When you had that summer thing with Taylor? The other times we were all stuck together with a tour riding on us getting along? Yeah, no. Wasn’t going to be the one to fuck up what we had going.”

“I’m not good boyfriend material,” Dylan said. “Like. I’m pretty sure all evidence points to the fact that I’m a pretty awful boyfriend, actually. I could try, I guess.”

Alex jerked at the sudden change of topic, floundering a little at the fact that Dylan wasn’t immediately and totally shutting him down.

“Sorry?”

“Like, my two relationships have been Taylor, and, you know. Davo. I haven’t been very good at the boyfriend thing, and I’ve got all kinds of baggage. And like, you’re way ahead of me, so I’m not sure how well it would work out, but I think we could probably figure it out.”

Alex felt like Dylan had started talking in another language. “Hang on, you’re not going to ask me to leave the band?”

It was Dylan’s turn to rear back like he’d been burnt. “Whoa, what the fuck--where did you get that idea?”

“I don’t know! I thought everything was going to get all weird now!”

“Weirder than you avoiding me for like, a week?” Dylan leaned forward, expression totally earnest. “I just figured we’d try dating and see where that goes.”

Alex sputtered. “We’re not going to start dating!”

“Why not? You like me, I think I’ll get there--isn’t that what dating is, getting to know if you’re good for each other?”

Alex didn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m not in love with you,” Dylan said, because he didn’t know how not to be honest and he especially didn’t know how to lie about his feelings. “But I think I could be, eventually.”

“I don’t want you to be in love with me because you can’t have Connor,” Alex returned. “You’ve loved him for so long and I’m not him.”

“I think,” Dylan said, slowly. “You’ve always been--so important to me. Something to me. I’m not there yet, but give me a little time. I think I could be.”

“Could be?”

“In love with you.”

Alex nodded. “I figured. I wasn’t going to tell you, but—it’s kind of out of my hands.”

Dylan chewed his lower lip. “And if it goes poorly?”

“Can’t be worse than you being in love with Connor. At least I managed to function.”

Dylan laughed. “Yeah. That’s--that’s fair.” He relaxed a little into his chair. “I’m sorry if I freaked out early on, I guess. I was trying to figure out how I missed it.”

“I mean, I was actively hiding it. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Because you thought it would go badly.”

“Because I was embarrassed,” Alex corrected. “I mean, come on. Who spends five years in love with their best friend? We had our jobs to do, and it wasn’t like we were going to get married and live happily ever after.”

“Maybe we could have.”

Alex snorted. Dylan at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Happily ever afters aren’t a thing, Dylan. People don’t get those.”

“We’re in a band, aren’t we? People say that’s not a thing we get to have.”

Alex shook his head, running his fingers over the edge of his phone. “You just like the idea of having a happily ever after. You didn’t even consider me as someone you could be interested in. We aren’t ever going to get a happily ever after; you just want the idea of someone loving you.”

Dylan hesitated before spitting out whatever it was he wanted to say. “So then how do you know it’s me you want, and not like--the idea of me?”

Alex rolled his eyes, feeling exasperated and helplessly fond. “It’s been five years. If it was the idea of you I was in love with I’m pretty sure I would have figured it out a year into touring.”

Dylan reached into his pocket, and he pulled out Alex’s song. It was creased and stained and taped together, but still whole. There was Alex’s handwriting and his guitar tabs, carefully pieced back together.

“Did you mean it?” Dylan asked.

Alex swallowed, and then nodded. “Yeah.”

When the guys got back, Dylan and Alex were sitting at the piano, tinkering with a melody Dylan had been wanting to work on. They had blank sheet music in front of them that Dylan was getting ready to decimate with a marker.

Lexy paused in the doorway. “You guys dating yet?” he asked without preamble.

Dylan looked to Alex.

“No,” Alex said. “I demand wooing.”

Lexy barked out a laugh. “Oh, god. Leave us out of it.”

Alex had every confidence that their band would 100% not be left out of it, judging by Dylan’s stupid grin and Clayton’s knowing smirk. He was okay with that.

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**THEN**

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It would have been too easy for their weekend in New York to go smoothly, if only because Alex knew Dylan could and would start drama over anything and everything with his brothers. Alex was a younger brother so he got the instinct, but Dylan’s middle childness cranked it up to eleven. It was definitely worsened by Ryan being a semi-famous, successful professional athlete.

The evening after they explored NYC they were camped out in the living room of Ryan’s house, chatting and mostly ignoring the Sharks-Oilers replay on in the background.

“If you need money to record a demo,” Ryan started, and that was when Dylan got up and walked out of the room.

“Shit,” Ryan said, but he didn’t move to go after Dylan.

“You’re not going to follow him?”

“And get punched? Fuck no. He’ll cool down in a bit, I’ll talk to him then.” Ryan watched Alex for a second, weirdly solemn for a guy wearing head to toe team gear and a pair of pink bunny slippers. The split lip wasn’t helping the staid gaze either. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“For looking out for him. I know the band you guys had last year meant a lot to him, and--I don’t think he’d be doing half as well if he didn’t have you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

Ryan shook his head. “You and Dylan both. I don’t understand either of you,” he said, but left it at that. “What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”

“In the morning, I guess. Sevenish?”

Dylan eventually came back to the living room, but neither he nor Ryan brought up the money again. The rest of the evening was a little tense, but ultimately the brothers seemed to be okay with each other and Alex started to relax.

They had scrambled eggs with John fucking Tavares the next morning, which was less weird for the fact that he was an NHL captain and more weird for how he kept quizzing Dylan on his current workout routine and offering earnest suggestions. Then Dylan and Alex bundled their stuff into the car and headed back towards home

Alex took the first driving shift. The traffic was, miraculously, not the shittiest traffic Alex had ever driven in, but it was still New York traffic. They were really only an hour outside of the NYC metropolitan area and only just starting to hit more rural New York when Alex interrupted Dylan’s sing-along to the Hartforder’s greatest hits.

“So what was that with your brother?” Alex asked, carefully watching the road and not Dylan’s expression. “Him offering to pay for a demo.”

Dylan sighed, and it took him a long time to reply.

“Ryan thinks we won’t be lucky enough to have a professional hockey player and a professional musician in one family,” was what he came out with eventually. “So he worries, I guess.”

“Why not take it?” Alex asked, merging into the left lane to pass a slow-moving pickup truck. “If he’s offering.”

“Because he’ll be right then.”

Alex took a moment to glance over at Dylan, who was staring resolutely at the dashboard. “What do you mean?”

“If we do a demo and it does well, and we build a YouTube fanbase--we earned that, right? Like Ryan earned his spot on the Islanders. But if my brother buys a demo in a recording studio and pays for an agent to shop it around, that’s a leg up we didn’t earn, and he’s right that I don’t have what it takes to be a professional musician, and he’s just bought me a career.”

Alex blinked. “I don’t think it has to work like that, necessarily.”

“What, letting my rich, successful older brother pay for something to get me where I want to be isn’t cheating?”

“I mean, kind of, but also, that’s kind of how the industry works, isn’t it? You have to have a good demo, and you have to know someone who’ll listen to it and connect you to the right producers and shit. Even on YouTube the right person has to watch your videos and see that your audience is big enough, and then they have to connect you to the right everything to make a hit. It’s not like it’s in a vacuum.” 

Dylan groaned. “Still.”

“Maybe see it as a loan,” Alex suggested. “Like how your parents bought him his starter hockey gear, and his gear through juniors, and now that he’s a professional hockey player he’s paying them back. He paid off a bunch of their mortgage, right? So just think of it like--he’s helping you with your starter gear, and getting you to meet up with the right coaches and dev camps, and when you make it you’ll buy him something ridiculous and introduce him to, like, Ariana Grande, or something.”

“He’d love to meet Ariana Grande,” Dylan said, sounding like he was thinking about it.

Alex, figuring Dylan was probably nearing his limit when talking about his feelings, decided to change the topic. “You got any of her stuff on your phone?”

“Hm?” Dylan cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. Somewhere. Want me to put it on?”

“Change it when we hit the next rest stop,” Alex said, and merged back into the right lane. “I can wait until then.”

In that car, at that moment, Alex knew he would wait for a lot more than for Dylan to change the radio station. It would be worth it, he told himself, even as he had no idea about what was coming.

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 **RockSound** : Home > Pop Punk> Album Reviews> Odd Man Rush: Racing Hearts

By N. Patrick, staff writer

This year has been a great year for pop-punk. MCR has returned for a series of concerts, ATL released a 10 year retrospective of Nothing Personal, and Odd Man Rush, a rising star of the genre, released Racing Hearts, a 12-track LP that will undoubtedly cement their place among the heroes of the pop-punk genre.

Odd Man Rush returned to their hometown of Erie, Pennsylvania, to write this album, spending a month in drummer Alex Nylander’s family cabin on the shore of Lake Erie.

“A lot of pop-punk is about leaving your hometown, finding yourself elsewhere,” Dylan Strome, frontman and lead vocalist, told us. “And we always did want out of Erie. But on the other hand, Erie is what made us. Our first songs were written here. We wanted to come back and remember who we were there.”

It’s an unusual perspective for a pop-punk band, but for Odd Man Rush the angle worked. Already a rising star of the genre, Racing Hearts cemented Odd Man Rush as pillars of the pop-punk scene and pop culture icons. Going back to their roots has shown in the sonic landscape of the album, hooking in old fans and new with a blend of retro and modern pop-punk sound.

Opening with ‘What’s It Mean’, the album fades into focus with layered vocals and instrumentals, setting the stage for the heartfelt buzz Strome’s voice will give you. Drummer Lexy Nylander provides a frenetic heartbeat for the song, written by guitarists Nick Merkley and Clayton Keller. Every track is deeply anthemic and sing-along-able, song after song of incredibly personal songs that connect on a gut level.

The first single from the album comes as the second song of the LP. Loaded with heartfelt emotion and infectious energy, “Falling Out” is a lead single that makes an impact. “Falling Out” paints a picture of a relationship that has decomposed, leaving new ground for personal growth and exploration. About the new single, the band states:

“Falling Out embraces the freedom of realizing that love isn’t always equal, and it’s not always something that exists in a bubble. It’s all about realizing the love you want isn’t always the love you deserve, and sometimes you have to look elsewhere to realize what you’ve been missing. One of the most frustrating parts of any relationship is when you think you understand who you’ve been and where your relationship is going, and coming to the realization that no matter how much you crave a person they’re still killing you from the inside out.”

The album’s title track ‘Reverie’ is another standout in an album of single-worthy tracks. In a twist for Odd Man Rush, bassist Alex DeBrincat and Strome switch places. DeBrincat has been known to sing lead before--notably when Strome was recovering from laryngitis during their 2018 tour, or when the band performs one of their city covers--but never before has he taken the mic for an album track. DeBrincat’s voice doesn’t have the polish that Strome’s does, but the rough edge lends emotional depth and weight to the track, feeling bleedingly honest in an album of confessional songs.

“Last Train Home” is a track co-written by Strome and DeBrincat, and produced by Winner’s Bitch guitarist Paul Martin, featuring his vocals as backing on the chorus. It’s a welcome Easter egg for fans of the genre, and a subtle stamp of approval from someone who many consider to be pop punk’s tastemaker.

“Memory,” one of the album’s two ballads, is perhaps the weakest song on the album and is yet still an emotional and mournful ballad regretting a potential relationship. It could be argued that the much faster-paced “After All” levels an equally heartfelt emotional punch with much catchier vocals and smoother harmonies.

This is an album coming from the ups and downs of life as a young adult in 2020, and all about living life as it’s given to you. “This album is about everything,” says Strome. “It’s about potentiality and probability--there’s break-ups and make-ups, loving someone who doesn’t love you--it’s an album about finding yourself and living your best life with that.” Racing Hearts is different from everything Odd Man Rush has released before, and yet it retains the deeply emotional sound Odd Man Rush has become known for. This album is anthemic and deeply relatable, and you will surely want to listen to it time and time again.

With their new album, Odd Man Rush have also released a new logo, signaling a new era of branding. Instead of their stylized circle logo, the band have begun promoting their new material with a logo reminiscent of a hockey diagram board. All five band members posted identical clips of the new logo being drawn on a whiteboard, which can also be seen in the lyric videos for “Falling Out” and “Last Train Home.”

Stream Racing Hearts now on your favorite music streaming app!

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**NOW**

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Sometimes, when Alex was immersed in the weirdness of being Dylan’s kind-of-not-yet boyfriend, wrapped up in the chaotic mess that was writing and recording and preparing for a tour--sometimes, he forgot that Connor McDavid was a force of nature with Alex’s address in his contacts. And that Dylan, in his infinite wisdom, had given Connor a key.

Alex was completely blindsided by walking into his own damn apartment to find Connor sitting on his couch and reading a book, his socked feet kicked up on the coffee table.

“I,” Alex started, and then decided discretion was the better part of valor. “Hi?”

“Hi, Alex.”

Alex put his phone and keys down on the table by the door, the secondhand thing Dylan had picked out and immediately graffitied to hell and back with a sharpie. “Dylan’s in LA.”

“I know.”

“So, you know, he’s--wait. How do you know?”

“Keller keeps me in the loop.”

Alex made a mental note to commit some light murder.

“He didn’t mean to,” Connor said quickly. “I just know Jack Eichel pretty well, and Keller told Auston, who told Jack, and I just texted Keller to confirm. How long have Keller and Auston been together anyways?”

Alex spared a moment to parse that, puzzling over what kind of friendship Jack Eichel and Connor McDavid could possibly have. Having actually met both of them, he could hardly imagine they just got together to chat.

“About a year,” he managed, then, “Eichel? Really?”

“We play video games sometimes. Ask him about Pokémon some time, it’s great. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh,” Alex said. He was still stuck on Eichel and Connor talking about Pokémon.

”It’s nothing bad,” Connor was quick to reassure. “You want to talk here, or we could go out somewhere? My treat.”

Alex, who had just spent the day running errands around Chicago, had no intention of leaving his apartment anytime soon. “Want anything to drink?”

“Beer, if you have it.”

Alex blinked. He’d forgotten Connor drank at all. “Really?”

“Cam’s turning me into a microbrew snob,” Connor admitted, looking sheepish. “I’m starting to like IPAs.”

“Huh.” Alex shrugged. “I think I have Ninja vs Unicorn left. Dylan might have left something else in the fridge, but we’re not really beer snobs here.”

“I’m not as snobby as Cam.” Connor shrugged. “Everyone thinks we’re squeaky clean in CCM. I assure you we have just as much fun as the rest of you, we’re just a little more discreet.”

“Your image.”

Connor snorted. “More that middle America doesn’t recognize LSD as an appropriate way of communing with God. That was a joke. Please stop looking so shocked.”

Shaking his head, Alex went to check the fridge. He pulled the half-empty six-pack from the back, deciding to just bring the carrier with him. At the same time, he impulsively grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry and headed back to Connor.

There was a little awkward small talk as Alex offered chips and Connor declined them, and as Connor struggled with the bottle opener on his keychain. Alex wondered what this was about and figured it would come out sooner or later.

Connor took a pull of beer, and Alex was reminded of high school parties in the Strome backyard where everyone was chilled out and relaxed, even Connor. It was one of the few times Connor really let loose, sure no one would be ratting him out to his parents.

“So you and Dylan are dating,” Connor said, setting the bottle down. “Congrats.”

Alex wasn’t sure how to react--if he should apologize or anything. Instead, he just watched Connor. “You’re okay with this?”

“Not really my business if I’m okay with it or not,” Connor said dryly. “I’m glad it’s you, though.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment. I’m glad he has you.” Connor gave Alex a careful, fragile smile. “Love him well,” he said.

“You knew?”

Connor shook his head. “I hoped.”

Alex couldn’t imagine the expression on his face. “You what?”

“I hoped. Dylan deserves better than me.”

Alex pauses, considering that. “Are _you_ okay?”

Connor shook his head. “No, but this was always coming.”

“So why not just…love him?”

“Love was absolutely not the issue,” Connor said. “If it was that--no. I love Dylan. More than just about anyone in the world. I just can’t love him the way he wants.”

“You mean--you love him as a friend?”

“Look.” Connor leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Love is amazing, but it’s not everything. There’s so much more that goes into life as a couple than just love, and I can’t give Dylan those things. He doesn’t share my faith, and that’s a big deal for me. I want to live in Canada, in the country. He wants to live in a city in the States. I want kids now, and he’d rather wait a decade or so. Our schedules don’t mesh at all. I hate when he comes home drunk. He hates when I get into an anxious spiral. Any one of those things we could work out, but all together?” he shook his head. “Dylan thinks love is enough. I just couldn’t see it all fall apart after everything we’d have to go through to make it public. If in a decade we could make it work, I would say yes in a heartbeat. But I can’t ask him to wait a decade, and I can’t just think that love is enough to make that decade worth it.”

“But you think it’s enough for Dylan and I?”

Connor smiled. “You don’t always see it, but you’ve got so much going for you, Alex. You’re in the same place, and you already work as a team. Love is the thing you lack, and that’s--that’s so easy to fix.”

“So you and Lauren?”

“She gets it,” Connor said, which was both an answer and an evasion. “A similar thing for her. It’s a strange club we’ve got, the queerly beloved.” He smiled as if that was a joke Alex was in on. “I’ve imposed enough. I should go.”

“You could stay awhile,” Alex offered.

Connor shook his head. “I don’t think we’re ready to be actual friends yet. You’ve spent the last however long thinking I’m fucking Dylan over, and I’ve still got to get used to the idea of you dating Dylan without getting jealous. Sometime soon.” He stood and stretched. “It was good seeing you, Alex.”

Alex was honestly surprised that he could say the same.

It was a weird rest of the week, thinking about what Connor had said. There wasn’t much for Alex to linger on; their promo schedule would kick into gear once they’d played their Erie show and started releasing the singles for Racing Hearts. As it was, there was prep work to be done, bags to be packed, guitars to be tuned, schedules to be made. 

Dylan returned from LA three days after Connor’s visit. Alex had called him immediately after Connor left, though he hadn’t really gone into the details of their conversation. Dylan was determined to make an effort to decide if he wanted to pursue a relationship with Alex, and beyond knowing Connor had given his blessing, the depth of their conversation would just stress Dylan out more.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Dylan asked, when he saw Alex’s phone light up with a text from Connor.

“If it’s not, it will be,” Alex said mildly. “Figure your own head out first, okay?”

Dylan looked mildly doubtful, but went along with it. As nosy as their band was, no one was pressing the issue.

Life went on. Dylan was still considering his feelings and his options. They were planning recording dates, meeting with producers and working on their album. Clayton headed out to Arizona for a few days to be with Auston; Nick and Lexy went to Toronto for the weekend to see the Leafs and sent an insane amount of pictures to their group chat. Things remained as they were.

They played their benefit show in Erie. It was half fan favorites, half cover set, having fun and the fans feeding off the infectious energy. Odd Man Rush was doing a Taylor Swift cover set, because why the fuck not? OMR covered a new song every tour date, so they had a bit of a Taylor Swift repertoire going already. Plus, Taylor Swift had been their first cover as a band, back in their YouTube days.

Love Story was legendary among fans for the amount of on-stage flirting Dylan did with Alex, which was filling Alex with all kinds of nerves. Historically, he and Dylan had sung it together, Dylan playing up the onstage flirting--even kneeling down and proposing to Alex.

Alex wasn’t sure if Dylan was going to go full-tilt and lean into it, or if he was going to tone it down. Even in their rehearsal sessions, that was more about making sure everyone could still hit the right notes and the key marks. The performance aspects of their shows could and did frequently change from show to show.

Dylan was in fine form tonight, so Alex thought he might have an inkling. When Dylan kneeled down, and then pulled him in for a brief brushing of lips that sent the crowd into a tizzy, Alex was pretty sure he knew.

“We going to try this thing?” Alex asked once they were off-stage. Dylan was sweaty and grinning, and Alex was still in love with him.

“I’m in if you are,” Dylan said.

Alex couldn’t wait.

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_so what did you expect: a rescue or a getaway?_

**Author's Note:**

> For stylistic reference, I used State Champs as Odd Man Rush’s sound, Hunter Hayes for Alex’s solo stuff, for KING & COUNTRY for Connor, and Paradise Fears for Clayton’s solo stuff. Jess Moskaluke and Kelsea Ballerini are what I used for Cayla Barnes’ baseline. 
> 
> Lauren Daigle is a Christian artist who is notoriously single and suspected of being closeted. It is implied within the narrative that she and Connor have a mutually beneficial but otherwise platonic relationship, but she is never mentioned by name.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [satellitesandfallingstars](satellitesandfallingstars.tumblr.com)


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